


To Play the Game...Or Change the Game

by ans8812



Category: Chicago Blackhawks - Fandom, Hockey RPF
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Friends to Lovers, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4996627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ans8812/pseuds/ans8812
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Toews is on top of the world at just twenty-two years old. He is living out his childhood dream to play professional hockey, is captain of the Chicago Blackhawks who just won their first Stanley Cup in 49 years, is a hockey role model for kids all over the world, is respected and recognized as a celebrity in both his hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada and Chicago, Illinois, and considers himself lucky to have teammates he considers family. But his best friend and fellow teammate might be in love with him, and that is just not considered acceptable conduct for a professional athlete in the NHL. Will Jonathan give in to the pressure of the media for the sake of his beloved career, or is love worth the risk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chelsea Chelsea, I believe....

Patrick was the only one who knew it went in. For just a second, he celebrated alone, then the goalie stood and there was the puck in the back of the net. The whole bench erupted; gloves, sticks and helmets flying as his team jumped up and down hugging each other. His teammates on the ice were on him as soon as the realization set in. They just won the Stanley Cup. The highest prize for elite hockey players. The goal every guy on the team had been dreaming of since he was a boy. And Patrick had just sealed the deal.

 

Soupy was yelling happily as he came up behind Patrick and wrapped him in a hug as Laddy pounded his gloved hand on Patrick's shoulder pads. Patrick accepted their congratulations then skated across the ice to throw himself into his goalie's arms. Niemi was shouting in his native tongue so Patrick had no clue what he was saying, but it was probably profane. The young right winger patted Niemi's helmet in appreciation, then he looked over to see number 19 vaulting over the boards and heading straight for him. The rest of the Blackhawks were on the ice now, hugging and yelling and swearing excitedly. The Philadelphia Flyers were solemnly looking on from their bench as the away team celebrated on their ice.

 

"Oh my god, buddy, we did it!" Jonny wrapped number 88 in a lingering hug and patted his head with affection. "Fucking great shot, man!"

 

"We're fucking Stanley Cup champions!" Patrick grinned back at his teammate and accepted the 2010 Stanley Cup Champions hat another of their teammates just skated by and placed on his head. Then Patrick and Jonny were swept up into the excited celebratory hugs and hair ruffling from the other guys on the team, including Coach Q and the rest of the coaching staff. It was a blur of limbs, beards, head pats and happy shouting, then Phil presented the Cup to Jonny, who raised it over his head like he was presenting it to the crowd - to their fans - before seeking out Hoss to have him skate it around. Patrick stood on the ice with the rest of his teammates and savored the moment as they passed the Cup around, each member of the team holding it over his head and kissing it before handing it off to the next guy. This was an amazing feat for any hockey team, but especially for a team as young as the Chicago Blackhawks.

 

Just a few years ago, the entire team and front office staff was in disarray and dead last in the standings. Then, in his second year, Jonny was named team captain at the ripe age of 20, one of the youngest captains in NHL history, and they began to rebuild. Now, just two years later, they were hoisting the Stanley Cup, Jonny was named the league MVP, and Patrick was so proud of his best friend and roommate he thought he might burst from the joy of it all. Seeing the open emotions - glee, joy, relief - pass across Jonny's usually stoic face was Patrick's favorite part, though. Even when he took the Cup from Sharpy and held the 35 pound trophy over his head with an enthusiastic shout, Patrick was looking for Jonny. The guy was grinning so wide as he chatted with Seabs and Burish, his dark eyes glittering under the arena lights, that Patrick wondered if Jonny's face would just stay like that. It probably would for the next couple months, then the pre-season would start in September and Captain Serious would be at it again; pep talks in the locker room, yelling at Kaner for trying to be too fancy instead of just shooting the puck, pushing his players to be the best that they could be at their position. He was an infuriating paradox and Patrick was completely taken with him.

 

It only took two seasons to figure out why Jonny seemed to be so good at bringing out the best and worst in Patrick. It's like the guy knows exactly which buttons to push to get the best performance out of his right winger on the ice, but has no idea how a functional relationship that doesn't revolve around hockey works. Patrick is certain the guy is still a virgin, and if he's not then Patrick wants to know who he paid because Jonny has zero game and no clue how truly bad he is at flirting or just maintaining a decent conversation that isn't about hockey plays and last night's game.

 

Patrick handed the Cup over to Versteeg, then Jonny was skating toward him and wrapping him in a tight hug; Patrick's face pressed into Jonny's neck as his friend had at least four inches on him. Patrick circled his arms around Jonny's torso and gripped the back of his sweater, wanting this moment to never end. He was sure cameras were flashing and all forms or media were eating it up, already preparing a story that wasn't there but would make a good headline tomorrow - or rather, this morning. He didn't care. Right now,  _Jonny_ was ecstatic and touchy-feely and wrapped around him, so as far as he was concerned the press and everything else didn't exist.

 

"You gave it all out there, Patrick, and it paid off," Jonny rumbled in his friend's ear. "I'm so proud of you, Patrick. So  _fucking_ proud." The right winger grinned against his captain's neck, his heart thumping so loudly in his chest he was sure Jonny could feel it. He only used Patrick's real name when it was just the two of them away from their job, the prying eyes of the press and curious glances of their teammates. Otherwise, he was Kaner, the nickname Sharpy had dubbed him during his rookie season. Everyone on the team had a nickname and that is what they went by for the duration of their tim with the team, but the first time Jonny and Patrick roomed together the captain insisted on calling him by his real name to 'separate our job relationship from our friendship,' he had insisted. Patrick didn't mind. To him, Jonny was Jonny no matter where they were or what they were doing. Sometimes he would use Jonny's nickname, Tazer, to the press and he usually referred to him as Cap or Captain Jonny in the locker room out of deference to his authority.

 

"You got us here, man," Patrick clapped his captain's back. "You, Jonny,  _you._ " Jonny pulled back but continued to grip Patrick's shoulders and smiled shyly before skating off to congratulate all his teammates like the great captain he is.

 

"Fuckin' A, Peeks!" Sharpy was suddenly on him, ruffling the winger's long curls as they watched the Stanley Cup making the rounds through their teammates. "This is surreal, man!" Patrick returned Sharpy's infectious grin. The guy looked like a damn GQ model even after 60 minutes of hockey and his hair sweaty and matted by his helmet.

 

"I thought we'd be here one day, but I didn't think it would be this soon," Patrick told his friend and mentor. "Just think of the legacy, man. All the other superstar and hall of fame hockey players - our heroes - that have held that Cup, kissed that Cup, have their  _names_ on that Cup. And we're part of it now."

 

Sharpy just shook his head and bumped his shoulder against the smaller man, "Yeah, okay, Shakespeare, let's get sentimental later when I have some alcohol in me. We got a picture to take."

 

The team gathered around the Stanley Cup on the ice. Jonny knelt beside Patrick and slung his arm around his shoulders as they both smiled wide and made the number one sign with their index fingers while cameras flashed. Jonny pulled Patrick tighter against his side, where Patrick fit perfectly into the crook of his arm, then it was over and Jonny was skating off to where his parents and brother were now standing on the ice. Patrick saw his own parents and sisters talking to the Bowmans so he went over and grabbed his youngest sister up in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. His other two sisters wrapped their arms around him, too.

 

"You owe me twenty bucks," Patrick grinned at Jackie as he set her back on the ice and hugged each of his sisters individually. He then let his mom bring his face down so she could kiss his cheek.

 

"So proud of you, Son," Patrick Kane Sr. hugged his only son.

 

"Thanks, Dad."

 

"Meh, you were all right," 18-year-old Jessica shrugged, craning her neck to see around her brother. "That Patrick Sharp, though, he's good....and a breath of fresh air."

 

"And married," Patrick reminded his boy-crazy sister. She stuck her tongue out at him.

 

"So when do we get to keep the Cup for a day?" Jackie asked. "I need to let my friends know, and I've got ideas for what you could do." Patrick laughed and gently chucked his 15-year-old sister under the chin.

 

"I don't know yet, Jacks, but you'll definitely be the first to know when I do. Although, I'm not sure we're gonna have much free time because there are some things I am required to do with the Cup. Plus, there will be a camera crew following me around all day, and I know how much you love to have your picture taken."

 

Jackie screwed up her face at this new information, "Ew, really? Can't they just leave us along for one day?"

 

"Sorry, Kid," Patrick shrugged apologetically, but her response was justified. He hated how much time playing hockey kept him away from his family, and when he was home it wasn't uncommon for the paparazzi and press to intrude on his and his family's lives or for people to ask him for autographs and pictures when all he wanted to do was go out for a nice, quiet dinner with his parents and sisters. And now, as a Stanley Cup winner with an original 6 team, the public attention would only get worse.

 

At that moment, Jonny skated up and wrapped his arm around Patrick's oldest sister's, Erica, waist and announced his presence with a "Hi, family." He grinned at Patrick's sisters like a tall Canadian imp.

 

"Nope, hands off my sister," Patrick glared at his teammate and positioned himself between Jonathan and Erica, forcing the captain to drop his arm from Erica's waist but instead he reached out to ruffle Patrick's sweaty blonde curls. The smaller man pulled his head away from Jonny's teasing touch and he tried to look offended or annoyed, but he was fairly certain Jonny either saw right through it or did not care. Patrick's sisters giggled at the friendly exchange and at the nearness of the attractive hockey player.

 

"Hi, Honey," Donna Kane greeted her son's best friend and teammate. "You were great out there."

 

"Thanks, Mrs. Kane," Jonny's charming grin just would not go away, which was a rare occurrence. He came by that Captain Serious nickname honestly after all.

 

"Hey, Jonathan, can  _you_ introduce me to Patrick Sharp?" Jessica asked hopefully, turning her big blue eyes on the captain, and she looked exactly like the female version of Patrick. It was eerie, actually. If Jonny didn't know better he would have thought Jess and Patrick were twins.

 

"Sure, Jess, he's - "

 

"No!" Patrick interjected rudely, still narrowing his own blue eyes at Jonny.

 

"Oh my  _god_ , Patrick!" the teenager threw up her hands, frustrated. "I can at least talk to him!"

 

"Ok, you two," Patrick Sr. cut in firmly. "Buzz, don't be obnoxiously overprotective and go introduce your sister to your teammate. Jess, stop whining." The teenager's face went bright red at her father's scolding and Patrick rolled his eyes.

 

"Fine, come on," he begrudged, leading his middle sister over to where Sharpy, Hammer and Burr were conversing with their wives. Jonathan watched as Patrick stood close behind his sister, who was almost as tall as him even on skates, and placed his hands on her shoulders as the outgoing girl met each hockey player and shook their hands enthusiastically. Patrick did not really talk about his sisters all too often so everything Jonathan knew about them he found out just by being around them as Patrick's teammate and close friend. Now, Jonathan understood Patrick's hesitance to bring up his sisters in casual conversation. First, they are all beautiful and smart with their own unique personalities, and hockey players are not exactly known to have clean minds and pure motives when it comes to women. Second, Patrick is so overly protective of his sisters that Jonathan wonders if they feel smothered and afraid to let him meet their boyfriends. For all Patrick's partying ways and bad-boy media persona - some of which Jonathan was sure was contrived - he really was devoted to his sisters, his family, and Jonathan admired that.

 

He turned back to the remainder of the Kane family and asked, "So, when are you flying home?"

 

"Tomorrow," Pat Sr. answered. "Jackie here has soccer and the rest of us have work to get back to."

 

"Take care of my son tonight," Donna Kane looked pointedly at the huge hockey player. She may be diminutive, but she could make any one of these guys feel about four feet tall with just one look. Jonathan understood Patrick's reverence for his mother - it was fear of being on the receiving end of "that look."

 

"I will, Mrs. Kane," Jonathan promised before he could fully comprehend to what he was agreeing. "We'll make sure he doesn't embarrass himself too much."

 

"Good boy," Donna nodded, satisfied with his answer, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Stay safe, and don't be a stranger this summer."

 

"Yes, Ma'am," Jonathan smiled at the familiarity and the ease with which the entire Kane family had accepted him as one of their own right from the start. "Have a safe trip home. It was great seeing you all." Jackie and Erica returned goodbyes, then Jonathan skated off to rejoin his teammates.

 

When the Blackhawks finally made it into the locker room with the Cup, the champagne flowed, Coach Q have a brief, rousing, obscenity-laced victory speech, more champagne and Cup-hugging, and Jonny congratulated his team with his own short speech. Then Kaner was pouring champagne straight from the bottle down Jonny's throat, most of it running down his chin and face, but nobody cared because they were fucking Stanley Cup champions - the number one team and envy of the NHL for the next year.

 

"Woo! Fuckin' yeah!" a half-undressed Crow shouted, raising his own champagne bottle to take a long swig. Seabs, a beer bottle in his hand, crowded against the goalie in a sort of half-drunken hug and ran his hand through Corey's dark hair.

 

"We're fuckin' taking the Cup to Chicago, man!" Seabs slurred. "We're gonna be fuckin' legends in Chicago!"

 

"Fuck yeah, Chicago!" Crow agreed enthusiastically. All the other guys in the locker room, in various stages of undress, were shouting, drinking, hugging and pounding fists and shoulders in between packing up their equipment and giving short interviews to the annoying press. Across from Jonny, Kaner was standing at his stall giving a TV interview still dressed in his Under Armor for the camera, but if they panned down the whole world would get to see Kaner's Spandex-wrapped legs, sandal-clad bare feet and his hockey pants and socks pushed down around his ankles like he was in the process of changing when he was interrupted by the media. He had some alcohol in him so his eyes were unfocused and his lisp more pronounced as he politely answered the interviewer's questions about the game-winning goal. Jonny could not stop the grin spreading across his face as he soaked in the moment; his teammates making happy noise all around him, his best friend, quirky as ever, giving his first post-Stanley Cup win interview at the age of 21, Lord Stanley himself sitting on the bench near Hossa's stall receiving hugs and a champagne shower from Brouwer, Big Buff and Soupy. Jonathan did not want this moment to ever end but also hoped there would many more just like it - next time in Chicago, yeah? - in the future.

 

They finally changed out of their hockey gear, packed and cleared out of the locker room around 1:30 in the morning. Half the guys were already drunk as they tossed their duffel bags on the bus. After a perfunctory warning from Coach Q to be safe and get some sleep because they had to be on the plane headed home in eight hours, the team decided to buy some booze and take it back to the hotel. They knew they would not be welcomed in the Philadelphia bars and nobody wanted to be facing drunken assault charges in Philly.

 

"There's a liquor store near the hotel," Sharpy, looking down at his phone, called out to no one in particular as they boarded the bus.

 

"We should send the young guns out to get the booze," Big Buff suggested with a smirk at Toews and Kane. "What do you think, Hoss?" He nudged his seat mate, who was texting his wife or something and paying no attention.

 

"Ya," Hossa nodded without looking up from his phone.

 

"Hey, no, I got the game winner. I shouldn't have to do shit except be fawned on by all you peons," Kaner retorted.

 

"Bull shit, Mullet head," Burish tossed his gum wrapper at the small winger's face. "When you can grow a beard then you can start hanging back with the big boys."

 

"We don't have any rookies to boss around, so you two win for being the greenest guys on the team," Colin Frasier chimed in, reaching over the seat to ruffle his hand through Kaner's hair. Patrick just glared and ducked his head.

 

"I'm the captain," Jonathan shrugged, "which means I'm better than all of you, so I don't have to take orders from any of you."

 

A collective "Oohhh!" rang out on the bus, along with laughs and Sharpy's "Them's fightin' words, Toes!". Patrick looked at his seat mate and grinned, and Jonny knew what that meant. Sharpy better watch his back or he might find some foreign, unpleasant substance in his precious hair gel.

 

"How about Skille and Dowell? They spent most the series on the bench, they need the exercise," Patrick didn't look away from Jonny as he said it, and the captain busted up laughing, his head thrown back. Patrick was certain he could watch Jonny laugh for days. When something really struck him funny the guy put everything he had into it, and that laugh was the most genuine, carefree emotion the famously stoic Jonathan Toews could express. Patrick also loved that  _he_  could bring that out in Jonny because he was convinced that, more often than not, the captain was totally annoyed by him. Sure, they were good friends - best friends - but Patrick thought that was just because they were roommates and had that weird ESP thing on the ice. They had also felt a familiar bond right from the start because they were drafted so young and had to hold their own against the more seasoned guys on the team.

 

"Fuck, man, this is our Stanley Cup celebration!" Jake Dowell raised his fists in victory as a chorus of "yeah!" and "fuck yeah!" and a couple spilled drinks followed. "I'll do whatever the hell I need to for than damn Cup."

 

Duncan Keith, who was sitting with his own trophy behind the fourth line center, leaned over the seat and firmly shook Dowell by the shoulder, "You're a good man, Dowell rod. That's the attitude I like to see." Skille didn't respond to his teammates' ribbing. He was sitting against the window in the back of the bus, talking on his cell phone in a hushed tone.

 

Since the Blackhawks organization had paid for an entire floor of the hotel, the team basically had free reign of the huge lounge without having to worry about bothering the other patrons. A few guys brought snacks from their room, and Patrick hooked his laptop up to the television sound system to provide musical entertainment. Their Mario Kart tournament set up was still in place from the day before, and the defensemen decided drunk Mario Kart would be the greatest thing in the world. Soon, Skille and Dowell were back laden down with packs of beer and a couple bottles of cheap champagne that were immediately taken from them by Brent and Corey. The rest of the team descended on the liquor like ravenous hyenas. Jonny quickly grabbed four Bud Lights - two for him and two for Patrick - just in case it would be gone later, and went over to where Patrick was still fiddling around with his laptop and the speaker wires.

 

"Hey, DJ Kaner, think fast," Jonny tossed a bottle of beer to his friend, who grinned and caught it effortlessly despite his own slight inebriation from the locker room celebration earlier.

 

"Thanks, man," Patrick set his laptop on the TV stand and pressed a key, then Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville" came through the speakers. Jonny rolled his eyes but he was smirking at his teammate's first choice of songs. "An American classic to start this thing off right," Patrick said, opening his beer. Jonny hunkered down to where Patrick was already sitting cross-legged on the floor near the speaker. A couple groans sounded from the guys in the room - probably the Canadians - at Patrick's song pick, but really they were all too interested in drinking, talking and playing video games to do anything about it. Jonny clinked his bottle against Patrick's then looked over to where the Stanley Cup was enjoying the impromptu party in his honor from his place of esteem on one of the reclining chairs.

 

"I still can't believe it," Jonny shook his head slowly and focused on Patrick, who was taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

 

"I know, man, me neither. It seems so surreal," Patrick agreed, his blue eyes shining in the bright lights of the room. "Like I'm gonna wake up from this dream, but then I realize I'm not asleep and this is very real." Jonny's lips pulled up into a sideways smirk when the smaller man set his beer on the floor then reached up to pull his computer into his lap, probably to adjust the EQ or some shit like that. The captain just sipped his beer and studied his teammate, his friend, pushing buttons and adjusting the sound until he was satisfied with the result. Then Patrick set the computer back where it was and picked up his beer again. Jonny didn't notice a difference in the sound, but Patrick likes to say it is because he's only a casual hearer of music. When Patrick listens to music though, he  _listens_ to music. Jonny's certain the guy can't go a day without it and he likes everyone else around him to hear it, too.

 

"What?" the blonde caught Jonny's stare and called him out on it. Even hazed with alcohol his stare was intense.

 

"Nothing," Jonny looked down at his lap and took another drink, ignoring whatever that twinge in his gut was. Probably hunger. Thanks to the winning of the Cup he only had a granola bar after the game instead of his usual post-game smorgasbord of healthy snacks, and an empty stomach plus copious amounts of liquor was not a good combination. Then he reached out to smack the back of his hand against Patrick's chest. "C'mon, man, I'll whoop your ass in Mario Kart."

 

For a second, Patrick wondered if he could tell Jonny the one thing he wanted his best friend to know; his most guarded secret because not only could it destroy his career in hockey, but it could also destroy his friendship with the one guy he was sure he would be willing to take a bullet for. When Jonny looks at him like that - dark eyes intense, unwavering, like Patrick is the only other one in the room - he wants to tell him everything. It could just be the alcohol, though. But then Captain Doucheface makes a joke or some stupid one-liner and the moment is gone.

 

"Psh, whatever," Patrick responded to Jonny's ribbing, rolling his eyes.

 

An hour, two beers, several swallows of champagne and some sort of Sprite/hard liquor concoction Sharpy mixed later, Patrick was on the loser's bracket couch in between Hjalmarsson and Frasier while Jonny was over there with that stupid, gleeful grin about to take the entire tournament.

 

"Ok, this is stupid, I'm going to bed," Patrick tossed his controller in the air, too drunk to care where it landed, and worked his way out of the couch. He rolled his eyes when he heard Jonny's victory cackle. Most of the team had already retired to get their four hours of sleep before getting on the plane back to Chicago.

 

"Wait up, I forgot my room key," Jonny patted Sharpy's shoulder in sympathy then pushed himself up off the couch.

 

"Captain Responsible forgot his room key," Patrick sassed, but no one was really paying attention.

 

"Hey,  that's a good comeback, Peeks," Sharpy grinned. Jonny turned off the TV and video game console, and Patrick flipped off Sharp as they walked past on the way to their room. The forward just laughed and headed off in the opposite direction down the hall to his own room. Patrick liked how touchy-feely Jonny became when drunk; even more so than usual, which was saying something. For as unexcitable and unemotional as the media or those who don't know him well make him out to be, Jonny makes up for it in touch; a hearty smack on the butt for a job well done, a gentle shoulder bump just because, a stick tap on the leg in sympathy for a missed shot. Yes, if Jonny had a love language it was touch. Then he would realize people could see so he would quit or play it off like he was just doing his job as captain to make sure all the guys on the team knew they had his support regardless of how their game on the ice ended that night.

 

But right now, Jonny didn't care who was watching as he slung his arm around his shorter linemate's shoulders and walked like that the entire way back to their room. He could explain it away that he and Patrick were really drunk and helping each other out - because they were - but sometimes he just wanted to touch his best friend. To let him know he was still there and he was not planning on going anywhere too far any time soon.


	2. Blame it on the Goose, got you feelin' loose....

Three hours later, though, Jonny wanted to murder his roommate, whose 7:00 a.m. alarm sounded like a tornado siren. The winger, of course, was sound asleep, which is why the alarm was so loud in the first place. Jonny was more pissed that it was unnecessary. They didn't have to be awake for at least another hour, and his head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure behind his eyes.

 

"Goddammit, Patrick!" Jonny growled and chucked the extra hotel pillow at the smaller man's head. "Shut off your fucking alarm!"

 

"Hmm?" the lump in Patrick's bed moved slightly and Jonny could see blonde curls poking out of the blankets, then an arm reached for the phone on his nightstand and the room was quiet again. "Sorry," came a sleepy grumble from lump Patrick, then even breathing again. The fucker was asleep again! Jonny flung an arm over his face until his eyes adjusted to the morning light coming through the crack in the curtains, but his head continued to pound. Every time he woke up with a hangover he swore it would be his last, then he would forget the feeling and go out drinking again. Now it just seemed like foolishness. He hadn't even had that much alcohol last night, but the combination of beer, champagne and whatever that thing was Sharpy made was enough, apparently, to make him feel like death warmed over.

 

He let out a frustrated groan and slid his bare feet to the carpeted floor, forcing himself to stand and walk to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth in an attempt to get that fuzzy morning breath feeling out of his mouth then rummaged around in his toiletry bag until he found the bottle of aspirin, popping the lid and spilling two in his palm.

 

"Don't take those on an empty stomach." Jonny looked toward the groggy voice to see a bare-chested, sleepy-eyed Patrick holding his head in one hand and a banana in the other.

 

"Thanks," Jonny took the fruit and stepped out of the way so Patrick could use the bathroom in peace. He went back to his bed, peeling the banana, and turned on ESPN as he ate his necessary breakfast. They were playing highlights from last night's win - Big Buff's power play goal in the first period, Sharp's and Laddy's goals in the second and, finally, Patrick's exciting game winner in over time. But after the first reel, Jonny was done and felt a little vain re-watching his own team's Stanley Cup win. Patrick emerged from the bathroom and collapsed on his bed again.

 

"Ugh, Jonny, why did you let me mix drinks?" Patrick groaned dramatically.

 

"Wasn't my fault, man," Jonny answered. "You're an adult. Not my responsibility to be your mother. Why did you set your fucking alarm an hour earlier than we needed to be up, eh?"

 

"I forgot to turn it off," Patrick said to the ceiling, his eyes closed against the natural morning light in the room. "That was my bad. Sorry." Jonny looked over at the man sprawled out on the bed and felt this sudden urge to go over there and lay beside him.  _What is wrong with me?_ he shook his head to clear that thought.  _I've been around guys too long. I need to get back home and soon._ Jonathan missed his dog, who was staying at his parents' house in Winnipeg during the play-offs....and there was this girl. A cute, leggy blonde who was as adventurous as he was athletic. He met her at the marina last summer, a couple weeks before he had to go back to Chicago for training camp, and they had kept in touch via text messages and the occasional Skype conversation when Patrick was not around. He saw her a couple times over Christmas break too, but they never got farther than making out. He thought he liked her, and she him. The funny thing was, though, he didn't really _miss_ her like he expected he would. He missed the physical contact of another human being, but if it wasn't her he didn't think he would mind too much.

 

But then again, feelings were fickle - his, especially - so he didn't really put a lot of stock in how he was feeling at the moment. He was still riding high from a Stanley Cup win. What did his brain know about any feelings other than that? Kaner was the emotional one, and Jonny was supposed to be the level-headed one; using his intellect rather than allowing his heart to get in the way. Although, he did envy Patrick's easy emotions at times because no one had to wonder what they guy was thinking or feeling. It was spelled out plain as day on his face, even if Patrick sometimes hated that he could be read so easily. He didn't like that the media could ask him questions about his teammates or the atmosphere of the locker room and then speculate about what he really meant in his vague answers based on his facial expressions during the interview. Patrick was also really easy to beat at Texas Hold 'Em and the guys hated having him as a Euchre partner.

 

"What are you doing this summer, Patrick?" Jonny asked softly. There was a couple seconds of silence and Jonny wondered if his friend had fallen asleep again, but then he heard the rustle of sheets and saw Patrick shrug his shoulders.

 

"I don't know. I really wanna just lay low, hang out with my sisters and friends back home....Jackie already has plans for my day with the Cup," Patrick could not keep the grin off his face when he talked about his sisters. "But first, I wanna do an epic pub crawl with my team and go the Jimmy Buffett concert in Chicago next week."

 

"Oh god, you're gonna embarrass us all," Jonny groaned, then chuckled when he saw Patrick raise one middle finger toward the ceiling.

 

"So what are you gonna do, Assface?" Patrick mumbled.

 

"Ooh, good comeback, how else can you make fun of my face  _and_ ass?"

 

"Shut up and answer the question."

 

"I plan to spend most of my time on the boat, in the lake and, uh, there's this girl...." Jonny's sentence trailed off and Patrick had to swallow against the feeling of his stomach in his throat. The pounding in his head was ringing in his ears, but he was sure he heard Jonny correctly.

 

"What?" Patrick rolled over onto his stomach and narrowed his eyes at the man on the bed across from his. "When?"

 

"We met at the end of last summer," Jonny said, nonchalant.

 

" _Last summer_ and you never told me about this?"

 

"It's not a big deal. We've only kissed a couple times and we're definitely not labeling anything....yet."

 

"So do you like her?" Patrick's eyes searched Jonny's face, but the guy was like a damn brick wall and Patrick was not sure he could handle the truth anyway.

 

"I don't know," Jonny shrugged and looked down at his hands, pulling at loose skin around his fingernails. "That's what I want to figure out this summer, but it's going to be more difficult with the media attention and team obligations."

 

"Oh," Patrick responded dumbly, pushing a hand through his matted curls so they stood up on his head. Truth be told, he couldn't wait to get rid of the mullet but that wasn't going to happen until he was back home in Buffalo. He cleared his throat and rolled off the bed. "Well, I'm gonna shower then grab some breakfast before we head out."

************

Once back at his condo in Chicago, Jonny dropped his bags in the doorway and went straight to his bedroom, collapsing on top of the made bed still wearing his traveling clothes. Fourteen hours later, he was awoken by his cellphone ringing in his pocket, vibrating against his thigh. Jonny didn't know what day it was anymore, but he did know he had no where to be. The season was over. Who the hell would be calling? He checked the caller ID before answering.

 

"What do you want, Seabs?"

 

"Damn, Captain Cranky, good morning to you, too," came the low voice over the phone. Jonathan grumbled something unintelligible, but the defenseman ignored it. "The pub crawl begins at Murphy's at ten. Eat something beforehand because we plan to get wasted and we can't have you passing out before midnight." Then Seabs hung up and Jonny tossed his phone onto the empty bed beside him. He rubbed two fingers against his temples and looked over at the alarm clock. Three in the damn morning. He sighed and realized he felt surprisingly refreshed, so he rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. His thighs and lower calves were still sore and the multi-colored, puck-shaped bruise on his stomach sent shots of pain up his ribcage if he bumped it. Otherwise, he felt good all things considered.

 

Jonny fried up a couple eggs, neglecting to separate the whites from the yolks like he usually would. The season was done and he was a Stanley Cup champion. The extra protein and cholesterol wouldn't kill him this once. He was in the middle of blending a fruit and kale breakfast smoothie when there came a loud pounding on his front door accompanied by an all too familiar voice.

 

"Open up, man, I know you're awake!"

 

Jonny opened the door and Patrick didn't wait to be invited inside.

 

"Hey, yeah, sure, wanna come inside? You're welcome," Jonny mumbled as he went back to blending his smoothie, and Patrick followed him into the kitchen.

 

"What?" Patrick asked, forcing himself to look at Jonny's face....or anything, really, but his bare, rippling torso.

 

"Nothing. What do you want?" Jonny lifted the blended drink off the blender and held it out toward his friend. "You want one?"

 

Patrick scrunched up his face like the smoothie was the most offensive thing to his olfactory senses even though it did not really smell like much of anything, "No!"

 

"What do you want then, eh?" Jonny took a sip of his fruity green smoothie.

 

"Why does a guy have to want something to see his friend?" Patrick's eyebrows drew together, his blue eyes blinking innocently.

 

"Because it's four in the morning and you're Patrick Kane."

 

Patrick glared then shook his head as if clearing it, "Whatever. I got a fucking obnoxious wake up call from Sharpy and then I couldn't get back to sleep, and I figured Seabrook probably called you so you would be awake too."

 

Damn Patrick and his intuition, the guy could probably make a killing as a psychic if hockey didn't work out. Jonny was sure the guy could actually read his mind sometimes. He was going to make some woman very happy someday.

 

"So you drove across the city because you couldn't sleep and you didn't want to be alone?"

 

"Yeah....so?"

 

If Jonny's love language was touch, then Patrick's was definitely quality time. The dude needed people around him all the time, but not just anyone. Unfortunately, his favorite people were his sisters, Sharpy and Jonny....and Sharpy was married now. His wife, Abby, had quickly put the kabosh on Patrick just showing up on their doorstep whenever he got lonely.

 

Jonny chuckled around the rim of his glass and ruffled Patrick's hair as he walked by on the way to the living room, "You're a weird little dude."

 

"Um, so, what's up with this girl you met?" Patrick followed his shirtless friend and settled in the comfy recliner, pulling his legs up into the chair with him. Jonny sat on the leather couch, sipping his smoothie with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles.

 

"So, what? Dude, I told you everything," Jonny answered.

 

"I was like half asleep! You can't just drop a bomb like that on a hungover guy. Why did you never bring her up this season? Or invite her to a game or anything?"

 

"I'm not sure where we stand, and it wasn't important as far as the hockey season was concerned."

 

"Is that what you were doing when you would disappear after practices and games? Talking to her?"

 

"Yeah," Jonny looked at his friend, wondering what the sudden grilling was all about. He had seemed fairly uninterested in talking about it in their hotel room. "Or my mom."

 

"But you still don't know if you like her as....more than a friend? Jonny, have you ever dated? Because in the three years I've known you, you have never once asked for relationship advice."

 

"I'm not really asking, Patrick. More like stating a recent occurrence in my life," Jonny pointed out.

 

Patrick raised one eyebrow, "You still didn't answer the question."

 

"I've had crushes and kissed a couple girls in high school, but no, I have not actually  _dated_ anyone," Jonny felt a blush creep up his cheeks at the admission. "I was too busy with hockey and my career, ya know? I just didn't have time for dating."

 

"And now you do?"

 

Jonny was surprised Patrick did not make fun of him for his lack of experience with the ladies, then he tried to remember if Patrick had ever talked about girls. He could not remember a time, and Patrick generally kept himself glued to Jonny's or one of their teammates' sides at the bars despite the girls hanging all over them. Jonny knew his friend was not one to disrespect the female population, but he did find it odd that the guy never seemed to be interested in any of them. Of course, the same could be said of Jonny, so who was he to judge?

 

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm definitely interested in a relationship and settling down....someday. I mean, if Sharpy can do it and still be awesome at hockey then I know it is possible to have a family and a hockey career. Plus, my mom keeps telling my brother and I how she wants lots of grandbabies to spoil, then I met Lindsay and it seemed like a sign. Like the universe may be telling me to give the whole steady relationship thing a try?"

 

"A  _try?_  Well, aren't you a fucking romantic," Patrick scoffed but a grin split his face, and Jonny felt something in his chest again. This time he couldn't blame it on hunger or alcohol, though. What was that? Was his body trying to warn him that he was going to have a heart attack at 22? It wasn't unheard of for athletes in high contact sports, but Jonny was a healthy eater and didn't have a history of heart problems in his family.

 

"Shut up. You know what I mean," Jonny set his empty glass on the side table and shifted so he was lying on his back across the long couch, hoping the fluttering in his chest would cease if he could just relax. Maybe it was the egg yolks. His arteries weren't used to such an influx of cholesterol and saturated fat at one time. He looked over at Patrick, who was still curled up in the chair and picking at a loose thread on the seam of his sweatpants. "Are you just gonna hang around here all day?"

 

"I dunno. Maybe."

 

After an easy six mile run along Lake Shore Drive and a shortened calisthenics workout back at Jonny's place, they were both ready for a nap and it wasn't even noon yet. Patrick went back to his apartment and crashed in his own bed. Jonny tried to read a French mystery novel his mom recommended to him six months ago, but sleep eventually won out.

************

The bar was already packed when Sharpy and his wife Abby, Patrick and Jonny arrived a few minutes after ten. Most of the guys and their wives or girlfriends were already drinking and showing off for the normal patrons, the Stanley Cup perched proudly on top of the bar. Patrick immediately made a beeline for the young, handsome bartender making drinks behind the counter and ordered a draft beer.

 

"That's kind of a simple drink for a guy who just won the Stanley Cup," the dark-haired bartender scoffed as he slid the whiskey and Coke he had been making down the bar then grabbed a pint glass. Patrick's eyes narrowed at the guy. What was this guy's problem? He didn't even know him.

 

Patrick shrugged, "I'm a no-frills drink kinda guy."

 

"I just figured you all like to show off on the ice then throw your money and fame around to get what you want. Your friends over there ordered champagne and mixed drinks, so I guess I'm just surprised that the guy who scored the game-winning goal is ordering his own  _beer_ of all things," the bartender handed the filled pint glass to Patrick but denied the money he tried to hand over. "First one's on the house."

 

But Patrick was not about to let this presumptuous douchebag have the last word. He had already made his assumptions about Patrick and insulted the whole team, he was not going to get the satisfaction of denying Patrick's money and thinking his preconceived notions of hockey players were correct. Patrick met the guy's eyes and deliberately dropped his 20 dollar bill in the tip jar, making sure the guy didn't miss a thing, then he turned and went to join his teammates. That exchange bothered him, though. That guy, a  _bartender_ , had no right to insinuate Patrick and his friends were shallow attention whores just because they played hockey for a living. Maybe a couple of the guys liked to throw their money around, and Patrick wasn't going to deny he enjoyed the attention being a winning athlete in Chicago brought him. He never thought people would view him as a joke, though. He was  _not_ a media whore, airhead athlete looking for more money and shucking responsibility. So what if he was a fucking champion and wanted to let loose with his team? He deserved it. He worked hard for it. Fuck that guy.

 

Patrick drank and enjoyed the company of his raucous friends. The more alcohol Jonny had in him, the handsier he became; his arm around Patrick's shoulders as they ordered more drinks together, touching Patrick's arm as they talked, reaching out to tousle Patrick's hair when some of the other patrons came up to congratulate him. When Versteeg and Soupy climbed up on the bar to sing drunk karaoke, Patrick laughed and cheered along with his teammates but he didn't miss the judgmental green eyes of the bartender looking at him. At this point, though, Patrick was too drunk to care and Jonny was hanging on him. Fuck what that bartender thought; it was wrong anyway.

 

They moved on to the next bar where Jonny stood on the upstairs loft and sprayed champagne down on the excited Blackhawks fans below. Everywhere they went people were congratulating them, buying drinks and generally happy to be in the presence of Chicago's newest heroes. By the third bar, Patrick and Jonny clung to each other out of necessity. Jonny could no longer walk straight - or upright - and Patrick was on the verge of passing out right there on the bar. At one point, while they were being swarmed by drunk fans and Patrick was retelling the story of the goal that only he and the goalie new about for a brief moment, his half-lidded blue eyes sparkled in the dim bar, a huge grin tugging at his full lips, and Jonny's alcohol-riddled brain thought his best friend was beautiful. They were both on top of the world, virtually untouchable, and there was no one else with whom Jonny wanted to share this cloud.

************

Patrick did not know where he was when he woke up the next morning - no, afternoon? This was not his couch and his head was pounding and....shit, he was going to barf. He stumbled through the nearest door which was, thankfully, a bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into this foreign toilet.

 

"You want a greasy ham sandwich with mayo?" came a familiar, yet raspy voice from the doorway.  _Jonny. This must be Jonny's place._

 

"Fuck you," Patrick groaned into the toilet. His stomach still roiled but he was probably done puking. He flushed the toilet and slowly got to his feet. Jonny was leaning against the door jamb in just his boxers and sleep-tousled hair, smirking like an idiot at his unfortunate friend. _Did the guy even own a shirt? And why does he look so smug?_ _He was there last night, too!_

 

The question must have been written on Patrick's face, or Jonny just knew him that well because he said, "I know how to handle my liquor, and I didn't drink nearly as much hard liquor as you."

 

"What?" Patrick grabbed the mouthwash he knew Jonny kept under the sink and swished a capful around in his mouth.

 

"I had mostly beer, but you drank beer, champagne and then you were doing shots with Corey and Brent and some girls who kept buying you drinks."

 

The blood drained from Patrick's face as he vaguely remembered pieces of the night before. He spit in the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "Please don't tell me I -"

 

"Oh yes," one side of Jonny's mouth lifted, "you definitely did tequila body shots off both girls and tried to do one off of Crow but he shot you down. It was all very romantic and heart-breaking at the same time."

 

"Oh my god," Patrick groaned and held his head in his hands.

 

"That was about when Sharpy decided you'd had enough, and I was pretty wasted too, so he called a cab and I basically carried you inside to my couch."

 

"I'm never drinking again."

 

"We both know that's not true. Come on. I'll make you a hangover cure smoothie," Jonny put his arm around Patrick's shoulders and walked him the short distance to the kitchen. Patrick slipped onto one of the high-top chairs at the island counter and let his head fall into his hands while Jonny retrieved the ingredients for his smoothie. They were silent for several minutes; Jonny cutting up fruit and throwing it into the blender and Patrick willing his headache to go away. But it wasn't uncomfortable. After three years of being roommates and friends it was easy to just be in each others' presence without there being a necessity to make small talk.

 

Initially, Patrick had been so concerned about Jonny actually liking him, but he could never read Jonny's emotions or judge his reactions to things so he always had to ask or would just talk to fill what he thought was an awkward silence. After a particularly devastating loss in Columbus during the end of Patrick's rookie year, Jonathan had finally had enough and let Patrick know it. Ever since they have learned to find a balance between Jonny's need for head space and Patrick's need to talk things out. Jonny slid the smoothie across the counter and Patrick lifted his head, ever so slowly, to taste the concoction. He groaned as the thin, cold, fruity liquid made his stomach roil. It didn't taste too bad, but Patrick had not had much to eat the night before and the excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed really did a number on his internal organs.

 

"It's good, eh?"

 

"Yeah, if the goal is to make me throw up again," Patrick mumbled, but he took another swallow.

 

"Quit being a wuss and drink up. You'll see," Jonathan went about making his own breakfast smoothie as Patrick continued to sip his. Gradually, the overwhelming need to throw up dissipated and his headache began to wear off.  _Damn Jonny and his magical health drinks!_

 

"So I think I'm gonna head home the day after the parade," Jonny said when he took the stool next to Patrick, drinking his green smoothie.

 

"That's only, like, two more days," Patrick pointed out. "What's the rush?"

 

Jonathan shrugged, "I already told you. Boat, lake, fishing, girl."

 

"Yeah yeah," Patrick sighed, glancing over at his friend licking the green mustache off his upper lip and his stomach flipped over again for a reason completely unrelated to his hangover.

 

"Hey, you wanna come up to Winnipeg sometime this summer?" Jonny asked. "My parents and David would love to see you, and I can show off my new house. Crawford and Seabs are gonna be there in mid-July. You should come, too."

 

Patrick grinned and reached over to cuff his palm against Jonny's broad shoulder, "Aw, are you gonna miss me, buddy? Can't fathom a summer without me?"

 

"Fuck you, forget I said anything," Jonny glared and shrugged off his friend's touch, but Patrick was laughing.

 

"Naw, man, I'd love to."


	3. And if this is chaos, I think that I'm in love with clamor....

Patrick practically floated through the rest of the week. He and Jonny shared a double-decker bus for their Stanley Cup victory parade through downtown Chicago, and the captain could not keep his hands off Patrick. There was beer and the general giddiness of being able to present the Stanley Cup to two million plus fans lining the streets of Chicago, all calling their names, so Patrick tried to not think too much of Jonny’s hands. He definitely played it off like Jonny’s arm across his shoulders or his hand grazing his thigh every so often was normal. It happened on the ice and in the locker room all the time, so it was only natural for it to happen in front of their screaming home crowd. He didn’t even think Jonny was aware of how much his hands tended to gravitate Patrick’s way, and he was not about to complain.

 

Sharpy and Abby were also on the bus, and at one point he made eye contact with Patrick while Jonny was standing with the Stanley Cup and yelling back at his adoring fans. Sharpy raised his eyebrows and nodded in Jonny’s direction. Patrick blushed, thankful that Jonny was otherwise occupied because Sharpy was not the most subtle, then he shook his head and mouthed “Not yet.”

 

“What are you waiting for?” Sharpy asked out loud just as Jonny was clambering down from his perch on the slow-moving bus.

 

“Waiting for what?” Jonny looked from one Patrick to the other, plopping himself on the seat next to his best friend. So close his right side was pressed up against Patrick’s left.

 

“To tell everyone that he actually hates the name Kaner and would like to be forevermore referred to as Lil Peekaboo,” Sharpy interjected quickly. If Patrick could shoot lasers from his eyes, Sharpy would be a dead man because now he had to deal with what came out of Jonny’s mouth next.

 

“I thought you liked that nickname,” Jonny turned so his torso faced the smaller man next to him. Sharpy and Abby were over there trying to hide their giggles in each other’s shoulders.

 

“It’s fine. He was just kidding,” Patrick responded, his voice sounding much more even than the terrified one freaking out in his head. “He’s an asshole, you know this.”

 

The right corner of Jonny’s mouth lifted up in that trademark smirk of his that suggested he knew he should find the situation amusing, but he wasn’t sure if it was because they were making fun of him or just making jokes that he usually did not think were all that funny. Yep, definitely Captain Oblivious when it came to reading social situations.

*************

As it happened, the Jimmy Buffett concert was the night before Jonny’s planned departure for Winnipeg. As much groveling and annoyance as Patrick tried, Jonny refused to go to the concert with him under the excuse of packing and making sure his fridge was completely cleaned out. Nonetheless, Patrick thoroughly enjoyed himself; sporting as wild a Hawaiian shirt as he could find last minute in Chicago, shuffling barefoot across the stage with the Stanley Cup while Jimmy played and sang all his classics, surely embarrassing Jonny and the rest of the Blackhawks organization with his antics and signature dance move “The Kaner Shuffle”.

 

Regardless of what the media or anyone else thought, Patrick wasn’t actually drunk until after the show when he was hanging backstage with Jimmy and the band….and he wasn’t even all that wasted. He poured a landshark for Jimmy, then one for himself, to drink from the Stanley Cup. Afterward, they drank a couple more Bud Lights and another landshark for each of them, but otherwise Patrick was just having fun; public opinion be damned! He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

 

That night – or rather, early the next morning – Patrick found himself just a little buzzed and knocking on Jonny’s front door again. Avery sleepy, very angry – and very shirtless – Jonny answered the door, yawning, glaring and rubbing his tired eyes all at once. Patrick grinned as wide as his face would allow, showing off straight white teeth and the dimples in his cheeks, but Jonny only huffed out a sigh and stepped aside to let him in.

 

“You need new friends,” he grumbled at the smaller man now making himself comfortable on the couch.

 

“Stay awake with me, Jonny. I’m too wired to sleep,” Patrick slurred, the lisp he tried to so hard to correct when he was sober now coming out in full force.

 

“Patrick, I have to be on a plane in….8 hours. I can’t just be up with you all night.”

 

“Why not? You can sleep on the plane,” the grown man actually pouted. Before Jonny even realized he was perpetuating his best friend’s ability to get what he wanted, they were both settled on the couch – Jonny’s half-naked right side pressed up against Patrick’s left – playing Mario Kart and trash-talking each others’ game.

 

“You look ridiculous, by the way,” Jonny muttered unhappily as Patrick defeated him yet again. He tossed his game controller on the coffee table and relaxed back into the couch, rubbing his palms through his hair then rubbing his sleepy eyes. Patrick chuckled at his friend’s frustration and reveled in his own victory.

 

“You’re just jealous. I look awesome and you know it,” Patrick propped his bare feet up on Jonny’s coffee table and leaned his head against the back of the couch.

 

“Actually, I’m surprised by how sober you are,” Jonny commented and Patrick frowned at him.

 

“I know how to have fun without getting totally wasted all the time.”

 

“Do you, though? Because you kind of have a reputation there, buddy.”

 

Patrick looked away from Jonny, choosing to focus instead on the framed signed Gretsky sweater hanging on the wall behind the TV, but the other man’s words still cut deep. He thought they knew each other well enough that public and media perception did not – and should not – influence their personal relationship. Usually it didn’t. So why did he say that? Then Patrick remembered what the bartender from the other night said. Deep down, is that what Jonny thought of him, too? Just an impulsive party-boy hockey player who threw his money and name around to get whatever he wanted and worm his way out of trouble? That is sure as hell what the reporters thought of him, and maybe even some fans and teammates who don’t know him that well, but he thought Jonny was different. He thought he was above all that bullshit because he knew Patrick’s heart, his secrets, how he is in everyday life when cameras and strangers’ expectations are not being shoved in his face.

 

Maybe he was exhausted, or he was sick and tired of all the emotions he kept just under the surface. Maybe he expected more from Jonny-his-best-friend rather than Jonny-team-captain, but Patrick was suddenly angry. Jonny probably meant what he said in jest, but Patrick did not think it was amusing at all. Not tonight.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patrick heard the words and his tone before his brain told him to just be quiet. _Damn it!_

 

“Oh, come on, Patrick, you know what they say about you in Deadspin and in the papers,” Jonny was tense now, ready for a fight if that is what this turned into. “Since we’ve been back you’ve spent more time drunk than sober, and the media has been there to report it every step of the way. Someone posted a clip of you tonight doing the Kaner Shuffle across the stage, and there are already hundreds of comments about how drunk you look and how you’re lucky you’re so damn good at hockey otherwise the organization wouldn’t tolerate all your extra-cirricular activities and how you get away with a lot of shit because you’re goddamn Patrick Kane. Obviously you have a reputation and it’s not all based on lies.”

 

Now Patrick physically recoiled, twisting up so his torso faced Jonny and putting some distance between them. He felt like a dam about to burst, but instead of water it was all confused emotions. None of which Jonny deserved to witness right now. Patrick had come here tonight for a reason, but now he realized what a mistake he made because clearly Jonny could not be trusted with such fragile information. He was starting to wonder what other personal details his alleged best friend had stored up to throw back in his face when the moment presented itself.

 

“ _God_ , Jonny, is that really what you think of me?”

 

“What?” Jonny shook his head rapidly, dark eyes clouded with as much confusion, it seems, as Patrick felt.

 

“The way the media portrays me. Is that who you think I am? Because you, of all people, should know they tend to exaggerate to get a better story or make up peoples’ minds as to how a person is, regardless of the truth,” Patrick’s bottom lip quivered and his blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but the frown of his lips and creases in his forehead expressed anger.

 

“What the hell, man, you know I don’t think of you that way,” Jonny retorted because damn Patrick for doubting him! “You know what, I didn’t invite you over and I don’t need this shit. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.” He abruptly stood, tense and scowling, and headed to his bedroom. He didn’t even know how this whole thing got started. Patrick was anything but reasonable when his emotions surfaced, which they did often. Sometimes Jonny was amazed at how well Patrick was able to do his job, but he seemed to be able to put everything else out of his mind while he was on the ice. Off ice, though, the guy was a wreck as far as Jonny was concerned.

 

Patrick flopped back on the couch and let the tears fall once Jonny was out of the room. He wanted to tell him, but now he wasn’t sure he could trust him with such a sensitive secret. It shouldn’t have to be a secret, though! However, the media shit storm would influence fans’ reactions, and probably other players’ too even though they should know better.

*************

Jonny found Patrick asleep on his couch later that morning when he set his luggage by the door. The taxi would be by in half an hour to take him to the airport, and he hated the unresolved tension between them but he wanted to go home and unwind before he said something he would really regret. It was not his problem his best friend was an emotional hot mess. He stood over the sleeping man, taking in the steady rise and fall of Patrick’s broad chest and shoulders; peaceful and quiet in his slumber. Quite the contrast to his whirlwind of a self in the waking hours.

 

The guys on the team had found little Patrick to be obnoxious during his rookie season. And he was. He was young, small, undisciplined, filled with raw talent but feeling like he had something to prove, and what he lacked in height and weight he certainly made up for in sass and chirping. Jonny was convinced all the veterans on the team were ready to toss Patrick in the dumpster in the alley behind the United Center. They had a rough game at home against Boston about a quarter of the way into Patrick’s rookie season and he had made an angry comment about Byfuglien being a puck hog. Patrick had found himself immediately pinned against the stalls with Big Buff’s fist bunched in his shirt collar and the other drawn back to strike. Lucky for the trembling, wide-eyed 160-pound winger, Sharpy and Hossa had stepped in to separate them. Sharpy decided to take on the responsibility as mentor to the kid.

 

Jonny still wasn’t sure most of the guys respected Patrick as a person or were capable of viewing him as a friend, but the could stand to be around him now and they damn well respected what he could do on the ice with skates, a stick and a puck. The thing about Patrick that the media either didn’t understand or chose not to realize is how crazy smart and observant he is. His mind is always going whether it be sports stats, reading other teams’ defenders, or memorizing hockey plays then coming up with ways to improve on those plays. He was constantly thinking. If he wasn’t a hockey player, Jonny could almost guarantee Patrick would have had a job in statistics or engineering or some profession involving math and numbers and brains.

 

Now, though, with his arms curled around the couch pillow and his knees drawn up, dressed in the same ridiculous clothes from last night, Patrick looked vulnerable and smaller than his five-foot-ten, 170-pound body. Jonny felt the sudden urge to gather him into his arms and curls his much larger frame around Patrick in some kind of feeble attempt to keep him safe and protected; as if the smaller man was incapable of taking care of himself and the monsters plaguing him weren’t all in his head. _What the actual fuck is wrong with me?! I should not be thinking this way about my best friend. Who is a guy. Lindsay. Think about Lindsay and how hot she looked in her bikini. Her slim, athletic curves….blonde curls, expressive blue eyes, thick thighs I wanna—no! Shit, I need to go home. David will knock some sense into me._

 

“Get up, fuckface,” Jonnny punched the sleeping man’s shoulder hard enough for it to sting and jolt him awake but not enough to bruise.

 

“Ow, bitch!” Patrick’s arm shot out reflexively, but Jonny dodged it and tossed one of the extra couch pillows scattered on the floor at his head. Patrick just grunted and kept his eyes closed.

 

“Come on, man, you gotta get up. I have to go and fuck if I’m gonna trust you here alone,” Jonny felt annoyed but couldn’t explain why. Like why was Patrick always at his place; just showing up unannounced and sleeping on his couch? Didn’t he have his own over-the-top apartment in Trump Tower with a big bed and huge leather sectional that was way nicer than Jonny’s second-hand sofa?

 

Patrick groaned and rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes, and Jonny’s gaze automatically drifted down to the tent in Patrick’s khaki shorts, “Goddammit, Jonny, you always ruin my good dreams!”

 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jonny smirked but it was more vicious than teasing. “Good. Now get out so I can lock up.”

 

“Don’t you have something to say to me first?” Patrick swung his legs down, forcing his body into a sitting position, as he ran his hands through his messy curls. He needed a minute to fully wake up and calm his raging boner, a result of the delightful wet dream he had been having before cranky Jonny so rudely awoke him. “You know, about last night?” He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks on full display, trying to be teasing but hoping for a genuine apology from his best friend.

 

“I don’t have anything to apologize for if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jonny scowled. “Now get out. I don’t have time for your fucking mind games, Patrick. I’m going home.” Maybe he was being too harsh, if the fall of Patrick’s facial features and the quick downturn of his eyes was an indication, but Jonny was just so….done. He was done trying to figure out Patrick, done dealing with the responsibility of captaining a hockey team, done being around people who expected things from him. He wanted to chill out with his dog and family and enjoy being a Stanley Cup champion.

 

“Um, ok, I—I’m sorry. I’m leaving now,” Patrick clumsily gathered the pillows and placed them back on the couch, then let Jonny herd him out the door. “Um, call me or whatever this summer….if you want.” Then Patrick and his sad, expectant eyes were gone and Jonny could breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and everyone of you who has chosen to read, comment, offer kudos and subscribe to this story. You don't know how encouraging you all are, and it keeps me writing. Much love! Please continue to read and comment. I like kind words and constructive criticism. Also, please be patient with me as I figure this thing out. I've not written in this genre before (i.e. same-sex relationships) and work is so busy right now. I will do the best I can.


	4. Well I'm just a fool for you and I think I'm going crazy....

Patrick had been home for nearly a week when Sharpy called, interrupting his wallow-in-self-pity time.

 

“Have you talked to Jonny yet?” Sharpy asked before Patrick could even growl at him through the phone.

 

“No, and I think he’s pissed at me,” Patrick frowned, picking at a loose thread on his sheets.

 

“Peeks, nothing is going to happen if you don’t make a move,” Sharpy sounded like his sisters, scolding but in a loving way. “Why do you think he’s pissed?”

 

“We kinda got in a fight the night before he left for home,” Patrick sighed and winced at the memory. He had thrown around some nasty accusations at Jonny that he spent a long time working through in his head. He decided they were not true, but he had wanted to get a rise out of Jonny to see some emotion. _Something_ that would indicate if he could confide in his best friend. And maybe Jonny felt the same way.

 

“Okay, so say you’re sorry and move on,” Sharpy said as if it was the easiest thing in the world to just forgive and forget. “I mean, Abby and I fight, but then we apologize, I buy her flowers and have awesome make-up sex. It’s part of being in a relationship. You’re not going to always agree because you’re different people, man. Plus, you know, the make-up sex is pretty fantastic.”

 

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Patrick rolled his eyes, “you like make-up sex.”

 

“Talk to him, Peeks. Tell him or he’ll never know. I mean, I love the guy but he’s denser than the ice on Lake Winnipeg in January.”

 

When Patrick emerged from his bedroom several minutes later and followed the scent of fried bacon and cooked batter down the stairs to the kitchen, his whole family looked up from their breakfasts like they were being interrupted by a ghost.

 

“Hey, stranger!” Jackie greeted first, grinning before continuing to shove bites of blueberry pancake into her mouth.

 

“Well, look who it is,” Pat Sr. quirked one eyebrow at his son over the top of the newspaper he was reading. “Glad you finally decided to join the living, Buzz.”

 

Patrick ignored them and met his mom’s gaze, hoping she would catch the pleading look in his eyes to make them stop teasing. He was also hoping there were some of her famous blueberry pancakes left.

 

“Good morning, hun,” Donna Kane stood to kiss her son’s cheek on the way to dropping her empty dishes in the kitchen sink, “sit down and I’ll get you some breakfast.”

 

“Thanks, Mom,” Patrick mumbled but gave her a small, private smile before sitting in his spot next to Jessica at the breakfast table. She was barely awake, propping her head up with her hand and picking the blueberries out of the pancakes, her eyes still half-closed. Erica, though, who was directly across from him, was ready to start in with the verbal jabs.

 

“Are you done having a pity party or did you just get hungry?” the oldest of his three sisters questioned. Patrick was thankful his mom set a plate stacked with pancakes in front of him so he could concentrate on buttering and syrup-pouring rather than look at any of his sisters.

 

“I think it’s more like pining,” Jackie leered.

 

“Knock it off,” Pat Sr. gently kicked his youngest daughter’s shin under the table.

 

“What? I’m just speaking truth here. It’s not my fault the truth hurts.”

 

“You just wait until you start liking boys, little missy,” Donna warned. Both her husband and youngest child had matching expressions of sheer horror on their faces.

 

“Nope, never gonna happen,” Jackie shook her head firmly and concentrated on her pancakes again. Patrick chuckled and just kept eating his delicious breakfast, enjoying the easy banter of his boisterous family. He missed his mom’s cooking, his sisters’ antics and his dad’s dry humor when he was away during the hockey season. They all had busy lives – his dad owned a successful car dealership, his mom was a first grad teacher, Jackie played softball, soccer and intramural hockey, Jess had art classes and was with her friends all the time and Erica was going to school for a veterinary medicine degree – and much of the time they were eating dinner on the go or someone would be absent for one reason or another. Eating breakfast as a whole family was their tradition instead. They made it a priority even when he was not there, and it was comforting to know some things never changed; the love and support of his family being the most important.

 

He had read and heard stories about men – and women – who finally had the courage to come out of the closet only to be shunned, even hated, by those who were supposed to love them unconditionally. He considered himself fortunate and he hoped he never took his parents and sisters for granted. He could not say the same about some of his high school friends, but he no longer hung out with or even talked to them anymore. He had plenty of friends who knew and, quite frankly, didn’t really care. His old roommate, Sam Gagner, from his amateur hockey days, Sharpy, a few childhood friends still in Buffalo, and Coach Q all knew and didn’t treat him any differently. Yes, he was very lucky indeed to be surrounded by such an accepting group of people.

 

“You know Brent and Corey are gay, right?” Erica blurted and Patrick choked on his orange juice.

 

“Um, what?” he questioned when he finally recovered.

 

“You didn’t know?” Erica’s brow knit together. “It’s so obvious they’re sleeping together.”

 

“Erica!” Donna scolded.

 

“Well they are! I figured it out last year after that home game we went to in December. The looks they give each other, the touching, the fact they always end up finding each other on the ice or on the bench before and after games. It’s downright sickening actually.”

 

“Oh my god, I think my world just imploded,” Patrick searched his sister’s face just in case she was stringing him along, but she was serious.

 

“You can’t just make that assumption based on observation alone,” Pat Sr. pointed out.

 

“Yeah, Patty and Jonathan are the perfect example. They’re, like, practically joined at the hip but they’re not _dating._ ”

 

“No, but one of ‘em wants to be,” Jess finally spoke up and smirked slyly at her brother.

 

“Okay, well, then I asked Abby to see if she knew anything and she confirmed it. She said they had told Sharpy at the beginning of last season,” Erica explained.

 

“Sharpy knows and he didn’t tell me?!”

 

“Chill out, Patty, it’s not really his news to tell. Brent and Corey don’t want the whole world to know. Not that they’re ashamed, they’re just super private people….so you can’t tell anyone I told you,” she added that last part like a threat.

 

Everyone went their separate ways after breakfast, leaving Patrick alone to load the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher before heading upstairs to shower and decide what he wanted to do with the rest of the day. This was the worst part about summer break. His family and friends still had jobs or schedules to keep, and none of his teammates lived close enough to hang out during the day. He really wanted to talk to Jonny, or text him at the very least, because they way they left things in Chicago was eating at him. Plus, now he had some juicy news to share about Seabs and Crow, and of course he was going to tell Jonny that Erica told him.

 

“Geez, this is stupid. What are you, a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush? Just text him!” Then Patrick realized he was talking out loud to himself. This was just foolishness! He was a grown-ass man – a Stanley Cup winner, no less – so he should have guts enough to resolve conflict with his best friend and tell him how he feels. To be honest, Patrick was curious if Jonny was doing anything with that Lindsay girl. He imagined her on Jonny’s boat with the Cup and his pitbull mix Julia, the chilly Winnipeg breeze whipping her hair in her face, but she was smiling and laughing while Jonny had his arm around her. Him touching her like it was second nature, the same way he would touch Patrick during the hockey season. His stomach tightened at the thought motivation enough to pull his phone from his pocket and begin typing.

*************

The mid-June day was perfect. The sun sat high in the cloudless summer sky and the air temperature in Winnipeg was finally hot enough for the cool water of the lake to be refreshing. This part of Canada never became unbearably hot and muggy like summer in Chicago, but it was just fine for taking advantage of the lake in Jonny’s backyard during the day and building a bonfire on the beach at night.

 

Jonny, David and his girlfriend Maggie, Jonny’s grade school friend Adam, and Lindsay had been out on the lake since mid-morning. They took turns on the wakeboard as David drove out to the middle of the lake, the deepest part, where they could swim and dive off the side of the boat. Every so often passers-by on their own boats or jet skis would wave, recognizing Jonny, and everyone would wave right back as if they were equally as famous. Lindsay seemed to be relaxed and fit right in with Jonny’s brother and friends, and she was definitely not shy or guarded. She looked flawless in a white bikini and sheer cover-up displaying her curvy, athletic body and tanned skin. He took in the beautiful silhouette she made while she talked to Adam near the bow of the boat, smiling easily. Every so often, she would laugh at something Adam said and push her windswept blonde hair out of her face or touch his arm as they spoke. Jonny knew he should feel….something.

 

But there was no twinge in his chest, no unexplained burst of jealousy or rage. Instead, he could not seem to get the last time he saw Patrick out of his head. He had been unfair to his best friend, annoyed, and that crestfallen, defeated look on Patrick’s usually joyful babyface had just about crushed him. For a split second, Jonny had seen a crack in Patrick’s armor of confidence, as if he was suddenly unsure of where he stood in Jonny’s life and doubted his own importance in their relationship. He hated that he could be responsible for any of the insecurities Patrick tried so hard to hide, and he hated that every time his phone had buzzed in the past two weeks he hoped it was a certain blue-eyed blonde only to be disappointed.

 

Jonny gripped Julia’s collar tighter as the boat made a sharp turn to avoid the wake of a jet ski speeding past maybe a bit too close. He saw Adam teach out with a steadying hand on Lindsay’s hip. She smiled her gratitude before glancing over at Jonny. He just gave her a tight smile, then looked down at Julia licking water and sand off the boat floor. Weird dog. If his Maman were here she would scold him for being rude to his lady friend and shoo him toward Lindsay, but she seemed content to talk to Adam. Besides, it would be rude of him to start a conversation with her when his mind was so chaotic.

 

Julia followed him to where David was steering the boat and his girlfriend was lounging nearby on a deck chair, reading some sort of science journal. The girl was an absolute brain. She was going to the University of Manitoba for a teaching degree and wanted to teach high school biology, but Jonny knew she could be a rocket scientist or a medical researcher finding a cure for cancer if she so desired. He still did not understand what she saw in his goofy brother, but they were good together. She got David’s off-color humor and he let her calm him down. Jonny sat in the bucket seat next to David while Julia squeezed herself in between the brothers and rested her head on David’s knee, looking up at him with those pleading dark eyes that get her more treats than she deserves.

 

“Man, you should be over there talking to your girl. What’s up, eh?” David took one hand off the steering wheel to gently scratch behind Julia’s ears.

 

“I’m just not….into her like I thought I’d be, you know? Oh god, David, what’s wrong with me, eh?” Jonny groaned.

 

“What’s Kaner up to these days?”

 

Jonny wrinkled his forehead, wondering what Patrick had to do with this conversation, but no one ever accused David of being a methodical thinker. Jonny shrugged, “Probably trolling every bar within 20 miles of Buffalo and playing golf with his dad, but I don’t really know because I haven’t heard from him since Chicago. Like what’s his fucking problem just showing up drunk and assuming it’s my job to take care of him. I’m not his fucking mother.”

 

David had a dopey smile on his face as he listened to his older brother rant, and Maggie must have heard him too because she dropped the science journal across her stomach and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Jon, just do him already!” David laughed but Jonny recoiled, his lip curling like the thought disgusted him. He looked around to see if anyone else was listening before turning his glare on his traitorous brother.

 

“No, man, I’m not, like….you know….”

 

“Just say it, Jon. Gay. And yes you are. Everyone realizes it but you,” Maggie deadpanned as Jonny continued to protest.

 

“Dude, I will show you game footage from the last three years. It is very enlightening, especially when Kaner’s around. Which he usually is because you two are on the same line, and even when you’re not you still find each other,” David chuckled. “The ass pats, the hair-ruffling, the full-bodied extended hugs during cellies….or whenever really. You two might as well be chasing each other around the playground like you did to Adam in elementary school before he finally just punched you.”

 

“Whatever, man, I’m just being a good teammate and captain. That’s what we do,” Jonny argued. He felt the blush creeping up his neck, though, and all those weird pains near his heart now made sense. And the fact that he was never interested in girl’s in high school. His excuse was hockey, but even his hockey friends had girlfriends, and when he went to the University of North Dakota before being drafted he was more interested in finding guy friends and hanging out with his roommate than dating girls. But that didn’t mean he was _gay._ It just meant he was focused and driven, determined to succeed.

 

So what, he wasn’t into Lindsay – she clearly was more interested in his friend anyway. He did not need a relationship, and the more he thought about it he realized he was initially attracted to her because he was sick of hearing his mom talking about him settling down and giving her grandchildren. And he was _not_ a jealous guy. That could account for the apathy toward watching her flirt with Adam. Patrick would say he was an emotionless hockey cyborg, and he would have that dumb smile across his face that showed off the little gap between his top front teeth. His cheeks would pull up to create those dimples all the female fans went crazy for, the one on the left deeper than the other. Those usually half-lidded big blue bedroom eyes would be wide and alight with mirth and that wicked tongue of his would take a pass across his bottom lip, wetting the skin there that seemed to always be dry.

 

_Holy shit, I’m gay. What will the guys say? What will the media say?_

 

“Stop freaking out and talk to him,” David knew him too well. Jonny’s phone vibrated in the cargo pocket of his shorts. He pulled it out to look at the screen and it was a text from Patrick: _Hey did u kno seabs n crow r sleeping together also im gay._


	5. If I am a martyr, will you be my flame?

“Explain to me why this has not come out in the past three years,” Jonny demanded over Skype later that night. He had shown David the text from Patrick but did not respond until the boat was back at the dock and all his friends had gone home. Then he texted back for Patrick to be on Skype in twenty minutes, and here he was in all his long, sun-drenched curly hair and tanned summer skin glory. Those blue eyes were not as bright through the laptop’s camera lens but they were just as seductive and alive. His playoff mullet was replaced by shaggy curls, which Jonny found infinitely more attractive – now that he was aware he actually was attracted to this odd creature of a man.

 

“Haha, I get it! _Come out_ ,” Patrick was downright giggling at Jonathan’s choice of words, which he did not intend to be comical. He was beginning to think having a serious discussion with his best friend may be a harder task than originally planned.

 

“Come on, Patrick, be an adult for once in your life,” Jonny huffed, rolling his eyes. “And why now? Why are you telling me this _now_?”

 

Patrick’s full lips pursed as he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, “I needed to know I could trust you, man. Being a gay hockey player is not exactly trendy, even though I think it shouldn’t matter. So what, some guys are into women and some are into other dudes. Who cares as long as they love each other, right?” He was talking so fast, but Jonny’s brain was stuck back on that first part.

 

“It took you _three years_ to think you could trust me?” Jonny’s voice pitched up and he noticed Patrick wince, shrinking back from the computer before lifting his head to look at Jonny through his eyelashes while chewing on his bottom lip. Even Julia, who was sprawled across Jonny’s legs on the bed, jerked her head up to look at her owner with confused tired eyes before settling her chin back on his thigh.

 

“No, it took me that long to realize you are also gay, and I….um….I kinda have a thing for you.”

 

Jonny could only blink and stare back at the man on his computer screen, probably looking like a dumb fish moving his mouth but with no words coming out. Patrick tensed, eyes darting across the Canadian’s face as he waited for a response.

 

“Patrick, I don’t….uh….this is all so new,” Jonny pushed a hand through his short brown hair several times, making it stand on end, and he could not meet his best friend’s steady, if apprehensive, gaze. “I mean, I don’t know how I feel and – well, you know, it took 22 years to figure out my own sexuality. I don’t think I’m—,”

 

“Jonny,” Patrick interrupted, chuckling, but his voice came out firm and certain, an otherwise steadying sound against the chaos of Jonny’s current state of mind. “Dude, relax, I’m not trying to push you or make you do anything you’re not ready for. I just needed you to know how I feel – how I have felt since I met you.”

 

“Hey, so what’s this about Seabs and Crow?”

 

The abrupt change in subject was jarring, and Patrick’s stomach dropped at Jonny’s refusal to talk about his own feelings. Hell, he was not even sure Jonny was fully acknowledging his emotions at all, and he wanted to hit him upside the head with a hockey puck to make him feel something. But if he could only get his best friend’s secrets in short bursts then he would be happy with it because that was still more than anyone else would get. Eventually, maybe, Jonny would let Patrick see those intimate parts of his psyche all the time. He could be patient for that.

 

“That’s what Erica said,” Patrick told him. “And, apparently, Abby Sharp confirmed it.”

 

“Damn,” Jonny muttered. “I wondered, but they are damn good at keeping to themselves. When I lived with Seabs, Corey would come over at least twice a week for dinner and sometimes he’d stay the night. Plus, you know, they’re all over each other in the locker room and during practice.”

 

“They must have told Sharpy, or he figured it out, but I wonder if any of the other guys know.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t know, it’s crazy though, eh?”

 

“Jonny, um, I don’t mean to pry, but do your parents know? About you?” Patrick asked, teeth still working at that bottom lip.

 

He felt the blood drain from his face, which was ironic because his cheeks felt like they were on fire, “Oh god.”

 

“You okay, Jonny?”

 

“Oh god, Patrick, I have to tell my parents. Oh god. What will they say? How will they react? No, Patrick, I can’t tell them!” Jonny was pale as center ice, his brown eyes wide as he rubbed a hand over the day-old stubble on his cheeks and chin.

 

“Breathe, dude, just breathe,” Patrick soothed, “and you have to tell them someday. Believe me when I say you want them to hear it from you first.”

 

“David already knows.”

 

“Okay, good, that’s a start.”

 

“Patrick, I can’t,” Jonny’s dark, wide-eyed stare betrayed a vulnerability Patrick could not remember ever seeing in his best friend.

 

“Yes, you can. You are a Stanley Cup fuckin’ champion, an Olympic gold medalist, you deke past guys twice your size and face down defenders whose goal is to ram you into the boards. You can tell your mom and dad that you like men.”

 

“No, you don’t understand how desperate my mom is for grandkids and my dad is so old-fashioned, they’re not—,”

 

“Stop that, man,” Patrick cut in. “Stop assuming you know how other people will react and just live your life the way _you_ want to. You are who you are, Jonny, and your parents are super supportive. They love you and I would think they would be more concerned about your happiness and well-being. Besides, whose to say you would have kids even if you were straight? I mean, let’s work on one thing at a time here, buddy.”

 

“Geez, when did you become the logical one, eh?”

 

Patrick grinned, “Since you, apparently, became the emotional one.”

 

Jonny snorted, but one corner of his mouth quirked up and he lowered his gaze, dark lashes fanned across his high cheekbones. Julia snuffled her wet nose into her owner’s thigh and rolled onto her back as he ran his hand through the short fur on her side. They were silent for a minute. Patrick watched Jonny giving sweet attention to his dog, and that familiar ache was back in his gut. He would never admit to being jealous of a dog, but he did feel like they were on a knife’s edge. Now that his intentions were on the table and Jonny finally worked out his own confusion, it was even more unsettling because he knew what his heart wanted. But what if his heart was a liar and Jonny didn’t have the same feelings toward him?

 

“Hey, Patrick, I am sorry about what I said to you back in Chicago,” Jonny spoke up. “I was confused and tired, but that’s no excuse to treat you like that or say shitty things.”

 

“It’s done and over, dude, let’s move on,” Patrick responded. They spent the remainder of the next hour discussing their respective Cup Day itineraries and the Blackhawks Convention that will bring them both back to Chicago in mid-July. Jonny disliked the Convention as much as Patrick loved it. He thought of the weekend as a way to connect to their fans on a personal level, whereas Jonny felt like the teams’ private lives were being intruded upon. He did not mind signing autographs, shaking hands, taking pictures and encouraging the kids interested in hockey to continue pursuing their dreams, but he despised the various panels he was expected to participate in as captain of the team. The fans always wanted to know about the shenanigans that go on in the locker room and hotels when they travel and how he feels about rooming with Kaner. The questions are all hockey and Blackhawks-related but part of him thinks it is none of their business.

 

Patrick and Sharpy are the storytellers. They know how to command a crowd and give just enough details to keep interest or make their audience laugh without dishing out too much information or ratting out a teammate. The people just soak it in every time those two speak and walk away feeling like they know some intimate detail about the life of a professional hockey player. Jonny, however, can only seem to remember the inappropriate stories when put on the spot, and though hilarious at the time, his retelling loses all the luster as he tries to censor himself. It would be better if they just let him stick to giving locker room speeches, talking about hockey and leading his team by example on the ice. Jonny did love being with all the guys again, and this year the thought of being around Patrick for the entire weekend caused his heart to beat just a little bit faster.


	6. It's a party in the U.S.A.....

The Cup, along with a Bauer Hockey camera crew, arrived at the Kane residence on July fourth, America’s birthday and Patrick’s third favorite holiday behind Christmas and Halloween. Pat Sr. and Donna had been hosting a neighborhood-wide backyard cookout for their family and friends since Patrick and his sisters were little, and this year would be no different except Lord Stanley and the camera crew would be there too. All the kids would spend the day swimming in the Kane’s Olympic-sized in-ground pool, supervised by Patrick’s grandpa who would pull up a plastic lawn chair onto the stone patio around the pool and scold his grandson for allowing him to eat two heaping plates of steak and potato salad. He would then fall asleep for the rest of the afternoon despite the screaming and splashing of the kids in the pool.

 

Patrick and his friends would split off into teams for a pick-up game of street hockey in the cul-de-sac. Sometimes, his sisters would form their own team and it would be boys against girls. This year, they would be playing for the Stanley Cup, of course. Widowed Mrs. Dobbs from down the street would point at Patrick and complain about those daggum kids always clogging the street and making all that ruckus, and Amanda, his closest childhood friend, would kindly escort the senile old woman to the backyard for some of Mrs. Kane’s famous French silk pie. But when the sun went down, the kids joined the adults again as the Buffalo Fire Department put on the most spectacular fireworks display over Lake Erie that Patrick had ever seen. Even Chicago’s display over Navy Pier did not compare to the colorful explosions, one right after the other, that lit up the Buffalo, New York sky. Afterwards, Pat Sr. would light a bonfire in the pit at the back of the yard to roast marshmallows and ward off the upper New York chill.

 

The sun was just beginning to rise as Jackie bounded out the door to greet Phil, the Keeper of the Cup, and the four-man crew with video cameras and microphones ready to capture every moment of this day. Patrick followed in his bare feet with his mom on his right arm and his dad on the other side. Jess and Erica chose sleep over hanging out with the Stanley Cup, but Patrick suspected it was more they wanted to stay out of the intrusive attention of the cameras. His heart raced when Phil lifted the shiny silver Cup from its velvet-lined case and presented it to him. All the memories of that series against the Flyers came rushing back; the way they dominated as a team, the pride on Jonny’s face with every success they had, and the exhilaration of scoring that final overtime goal for the win.

 

Some of the neighbors came out of their houses and gathered to watch Patrick lift the Cup over his head, his mom, dad and youngest sister touching the engraved aluminum as cameras flashed to record the moment. Proclamations of “Congratulations, Patrick” and “Good job. Proud of you!” sounded through the small mob of the Kane’s neighbors. Patrick waved and shook hands with the people who had watched him grow up and supported his hockey dreams despite dented garage doors and broken windows from stray pucks. Buffalo was considered a hockey city where the sport came second only to God and family. Even with one million people living in the city and surrounding suburbs, the streets emptied and businesses closed early for Friday night hockey games. When the Sabres played there was not a bar or restaurant in the city that was not broadcasting the game, and Patrick used to assume he would end up playing for his home team. He used to dream that someday it would be _his_ face on those TV screens, proudly wearing the blue and orange of his team. So he was incredibly touched when his community continued to support him and watch his games even though he had been drafted by the Blackhawks, where he seemed to be on a long term plan.

 

Patrick held out his hands in a gesture to quiet the crowd, then settled the right one on Jackie’s shoulder as his left arm wrapped around his mom’s waist with the Stanley Cup at his feet, “I just want you all to know that this is for you. I would not be the hockey player I am without all of you, so this Cup belongs to all of you, to the city. Thank you!” Everyone on the sidewalk and street crowded into the Kane’s driveway to touch the Cup and talk to Patrick’s parents. Jackie hip-checked her brother and grinned up at him. Though she would never admit to it for fear of inflating his already huge head and appearing like she actually cared, Patrick knew she was proud of him, too.

 

None of this would mean anything if his sisters were not on his side, not because he needed adoration but rather he valued how they grounded him. Just as he does what he can to ensure their happiness and success, so they have been crucial to helping him develop his skills as a kid and reminding him where came from even when the money and recognition started rolling in. When the Kane kids were young, all three girls would be willing to stand as goalies as their older brother took slap shots at the closed garage door. Of course, they heckled him the entire time and became pretty good goalies in their own right. Instead of playing with dolls and tea sets, the four siblings would use duct tape to mark off a net on the basement wall and play two-on-two floor hockey or soccer, depending on who won the deciding game of rock-paper-scissors.

 

By mid-day, Lord Stanley had been doused on the HurriKane observation deck – aptly named for Buffalo’s famous son – at Niagara Falls, made the rounds at the county children’s cancer hospital one town over and visited Pat Sr.’s ironworker friends building a new skyscraper in the heart of the city. Since it was a holiday the workers were not required to be at the site, but all of them showed up to see the Cup and the kid who was told he would never make it in the NHL because he was too small. Pat Sr.’s best friend, the foreman of the ironworkers and ‘Uncle Joe’ to the Kane children, took Patrick and the Cup in the lift to the highest scaffolding on the half-finished building while the rest of the Kane’s and ironworkers remained on the ground.

 

Patrick hugged the Cup close as he looked out over his city, trembling at being 120-feet in the air supported only by iron beams and welding, but he wished Jonny was at his side to see the spectacular view, too. It seemed like he had a bird’s-eye view of the whole city; Lake Erie sparkled like a blue diamond in the hot summer sun and the cars passing over the suspension bridge connecting Canada to the United States looked like colorful moving dots. From this vantage point, Patrick could see the Shea Performing Arts Center, First Niagara Center, the courthouse and city hall all at once and the imposing Buffalo skyline suddenly seemed small. Jonny would love this; the sensation of being on top of the world now tangible and the view was amazing.

 

Afterward, Donna, Pat Sr. and the girls went back home to prepare for their guests expected for the annual barbecue while Patrick and the Stanley Cup stopped at Spinners, the indoor skate rink he and his friends practically lived in as kids and still frequented when he was home for a pick-up floor hockey game. This time, of course, they would be playing for the real Stanley Cup with a TV camera crew recording the game. He would have to remind Sean, his big defenseman, loud mouth friend and now Amanda’s boyfriend, to keep the cursing to a minimum. Which was a shame because Sean usually had them all in stitches with his clever uses of those four-letter words.

 

There were twelve of them, all Patrick’s friends from growing up who remained in contact with him even after he left at 14 to play junior hockey in Michigan. Amanda acted as a line judge and mediator of disputes. He had known her since they were babies when their moms would get together for play dates, and even as they grew up and developed different interests – Patrick’s being sports and Amanda’s being art – they remained best friends. She fit seamlessly into his group of athletic friends and preferred to hang out with the guys. There was less backbiting and cattiness among males, she claimed. Less drama. If they had a problem with another guy they would just wrestle it out and be friends again. After an hour of play, Patrick’s team was ahead by three goals and they were all hungry.

 

“I say we call it,” Blake, the opposing goalie suggested as Patrick and his teammates celebrated their seventh goal. “I need some of Mrs. Kane’s potato salad and a steak.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to see Jess?” Sean teased, knocking his elbow into the goalie’s ribs as they walked to the bench for their water bottles and gym bags.

 

“What?” Patrick whipped his head around at the mention of his sister, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Chill, man,” Sean patted Patrick’s shoulder as he fell into step with them. “There’s no way Blakey here is ever going to date your sister because she won’t give him the time of the day.” The tall, broad twenty-year old blushed and ducked his head. He looked intimidating filling most of the hockey net, but everyone who knew him knew he was really a big bear, cuddly and sweet. He would probably be good to Jess; the calm extrovert to her chaotic introvert. Patrick just could not wrap his head around his sisters being old enough to date.

 

The winning team lifted the Cup and kissed it as if they were professional hockey players too, and the losing team did the same until all of Patrick’s friends had a moment with the Cup. Then the camera crew followed their caravan of cars and SUVs back to the Kane house where the Fourth of July party was in full swing. Patrick carried Lord Stanley to the backyard, swarmed  by his friends. They could hear the kids shrieking and splashing in the pool before they even entered the tall privacy gate to the yard, the smell of grilled steak and kebob vegetables wafting in the air around the din of a dozen or more different adult conversations happening at once.

 

“Hey, Patrick!” one of the little cousins exclaimed. The whole crowd of his friends and family erupted into cheers as Patrick brought the Stanley Cup into their midst. This year, Donna made sure to set up an extra table on the patio to display the guest of honor, and it was almost madness when Patrick placed him upon it. Everyone wanted to touch the Cup, take a picture with the Cup, drink beer from the Cup just like they had seen the hockey players do on TV. Patrick stepped back to let his loved ones enjoy the presence of the Stanley Cup at their barbecue, amazed by the love that had always surrounded him.

 

Grandpa Kane approached and wrapped him in a familiar, lingering hug before he gripped his grandson’s muscular arms in his weathered hands. The man may be 72 years old but he was still as strong and capable as he had been as an ironworker, a job he loved and excelled at for 45 years before his wife passed away and he decided to retire. Grandpa Kane always wanted his grandkids to do what they loved, and he had noticed Patrick’s athleticism from a very young age. He helped encourage and teach little Patrick how to ice skate. He even bought him his first hockey stick at age four. During the summers of his teenage years, Patrick often spent as much time at his grandparents’ house in the country as he did at his own home, showing his grandpa what he was learning in junior hockey and watching game tapes that his grandpa had recorded off the TV. In turn, he helped Grandpa Kane with yard work and the other maintenance that comes with owning a farm.

 

“You, my boy, are my pride and joy,” Grandpa Kane smiled at his only grandson, the wrinkles on his face from years of happiness mixed with sorrow deepening but his blue eyes remained bright with life and love. “I told you we could do it, huh? I’m so proud of you, kid. And your grandma is smiling down from heaven on you, too.”

 

Tears pricked Patrick’s eyelids as he pulled his grandpa back in for another hug, “Thanks, Grandpa. I know. I love you so much. Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t. This one’s for you.”

 

Grandpa Kane patted his grandson’s cheek, “You’re a good boy, Patrick. You work hard for what you want even if it seems like everyone else is telling you no. Now, how’s that boy of yours? Why isn’t he here with you?”

 

“He’s fine, Grandpa. He knows how I feel about him, and I’ll see him at the convention in a couple weeks. Then I’m going to his house up in Winnipeg for a week or so before the pre-season starts.”

 

“That boy is stubborn and dumb if he can’t see what a catch you are.”

 

Patrick laughed because, honestly, he was thinking the same thing, “It will happen if it’s meant to be. You always tell me that, remember?”

 

“Yes, but I want to see you happy and married before I die; same thing for your sisters. You deserve love and happiness like your grandmother and I had and like your mom and dad have.”

 

“We will, Grandpa,” Patrick reassured with a hand on his grandfather’s thin shoulder. “We will be just fine.”

 

The remainder of the afternoon passed in a barrage of hugs, words of praise and well wishes for the upcoming season. Of course, a family gathering would not be the same without Uncle Ray, Pat Sr.’s brother, talking Patrick’s ear off about the Blackhawks’ stats now versus thirty years ago, the change in rules and regulations instituted by the league to hopefully decrease the number of head injuries each year, and, as always, what the Sabres are projected to do this season based on the players they traded and acquired in the off-season. Patrick was able to wolf down a big T-bone and heaping spoonful of his mom’s potato salad, and he could not resist the French Silk pie when dessert was brought out. Jonny would be so disappointed in his lack of self control, but it was America’s independent day and he had the right to eat some damn pie if he wanted.

 

The temperature dropped when the sun went down, forcing the kids out of the pool and around the bonfire. Finally having a moment to himself, Patrick grabbed a beer and retreated to some deck chairs at the edge of the yard, close enough to feel the heat of the crackling fire but still distant enough to have a quiet conversation with his friends occupying the other seats. Lord Stanley sat on the ground in the center.

 

“How does it feel to be the hometown superhero?” Sean lifted his beer bottle in a salute to his friend.

 

Patrick shook his head and smirked, sardonic, because he did not feel worthy of such regard. There were men and women from Buffalo who had been first responders to the twin towers on 9-11 and others fighting to keep his beloved home country free. He chased a circle of rubber around a sheet of ice for a living and brought home a giant, shiny trophy. Definitely not deserving to be called a hero.

 

“We’re just glad the mullet is gone,” Amanda leaned over to ruffle Patrick’s long curls. “I mean that thing was horrendous. It really was embarrassing for all of us.” The guys laughed. Patrick felt his face heat up with a blush at their good-natured ribbing.

 

“You’re all assholes,” he chuckled, pulling a swallow from his bottle of Bud light. “You _wish_ you could grow a flow like that.”

 

“Naw, I can grow facial hair,” Blake returned, followed by a chorus of “ooh, burn!” and Patrick threw his head back in genuine laughter.

 

“Yeah, but you still can’t get the girl,” Sean shot back.

 

“It takes time,” Blake responded. “You have to woo them, Sean. Not all girls fall for the guy who tackled them on the playground in fifth grade.”

 

Sean and Amanda exchanged reminiscent looks, then Amanda said, “To be fair, I punched him first for being mean to Patrick.”

 

“Speaking of protecting Kane, what’s up with you and goon enforcer Captain Toews?” Sean looked at Patrick, who dropped his gaze and suddenly became very interested in picking at the label on his bottle.

 

“He’s just being a good captain. You know, setting the example, taking his job way too seriously,” Patrick shrugged.

 

“Yeah, but I have never seen a center-forward get so riled up when his right winger gets hit. In that series against Vancouver, I thought he was going to murder Kesler.”

 

“Oh my god, you like him,” Amanda straightened as the light bulb went on in her head.

 

“Shh! Keep it down!” Patrick looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. The camera crew was gone for the night, thankfully, because there was no quieting Amanda once she had a matchmaking scheme in mind. The girl was a hopeless romantic and he loved her for it, but he was also pretty sure Jonny would kill him dead of he knew Patrick had leaked his secret.

 

“You have a crush on your captain! Aw, that’s so cute, Patrick,” Amanda teased.

 

“He’s gay, too?” Blake’s mouth fell open at the revelation before he realized how much of a moron he looked like right now. “I mean, that’s not – I didn’t mean….It doesn’t bother me if he is. It’s just surprising is all.”

 

“Does that mean you’re finally gonna tell the media and the fans and the world?” Sean asked. “You two could come out together, you know, since you’ve done everything else together for the past three years.” Patrick blushed again and finished off what was left of the beer in his bottle. Suddenly it was all too much. The questions, the decisions, the pressure of being a gay hockey player in the spotlight; he was supposed to be on a break from all this, damn it!

 

The sky lit up in blue and red, followed by a boom, signaling the beginning of fireworks, saving Patrick from having to answer his friends. Everyone still lingering in the yard stopped what they were doing to be still and watch the fantastic light display in the night sky. Patrick loved the huge boomers that seemed to shake the whole city, the ones he felt deep in his chest and belly as they cracked the air with as much color as noise. Again, Patrick found himself wishing Jonny was here, right beside him or maybe even on his lap, wrapped around each other as much for warmth as affection, enjoying the boom, sizzle and whistle of the fireworks exploding into brilliant color over the lake. Together. Sharing a moment of peaceful bliss as the dark world lit up around them, celebrating the birth of the country Patrick was so proud to be born and raised in. But most of all he didn’t want to have to hide how he felt anymore. He pulled his phone from his pocket, snapping a picture of Lord Stanley with the fireworks in the background, then sent it to Jonny with the caption _Wish you were here._


	7. I'll swallow all your bombs and grenades and love you like a tsunami wave....

For all the reasons Jonny dreaded the convention every year, his panel with Patrick, Sharpy and Seabs on the first day was actually turning out to be really fun. It was an open forum, which means the audience was limited to 40 fans who had paid serious money to be there. In other words, they were not fly-by-night spectators or those who had jumped on the bandwagon post-Stanley Cup win. So far, they were asking some great questions, too. A kid asked about pranks they played on each other during road trips this past season, and of course Sharpy jumped right in with his usual adage, which everyone already knew was not true.

 

“I don’t play pranks,” Sharpy began with a grin, glancing at Jonny to his left as the three of them snickered and rolled their eyes. “But I heard about one played on this guy to my left here. So we were in Florida and we had been on the road for, like, a week. We were all kinda, you know, sick of buses and hotels and being in close quarters with each other. Anyway, Burr and I had the room next to these two jokers,” Sharpy indicated with his finger at Patrick and Jonny, who was shaking his head, “and I get a panicked call from Tazer here saying his bag was missing. It’s late, you know, I’m trying to sleep and Burr was brushing his teeth or something, but Tazer keeps going on and on about his missing bag. He’s like ‘Do you know who took my bag? Did you or Burr take my bag?’ and I’m like, dude, no, I don’t know, someone took my bag, too. He wouldn’t shut up, then I hear this high-pitched wail and Tazer’s growling ‘I’m gonna kill whoever did this. I will find out. They will die.’

 

“I’m going what? What happened, man? And he says someone wrote a message on their bathroom mirror in toothpaste. It said ‘Got you’ and then a word I can’t say here. Well come to find out, whoever had done it used Tazer’s toothpaste and he found his bag sitting out in the hall outside their door, minus a few, um, essentials. God, he was so….mad,” Sharpy was laughing now and the room absolutely erupted. Jonny’s face flamed as he tried to control the smirk playing at his lips, chuckling at the memory. He looked over to see Patrick nearly doubled over with tears streaming down his face he was laughing so hard, blue eyes shining under the bright stage lights and so carefree in the moment. They never did confirm did it, but Jonny’s money was on Sharpy or Burr, or a conspiracy between the two.

 

As he watched Patrick, Jonny’s heart squeezed as if the blonde had reached inside his chest and wrapped a hand around it himself. For a second, he forgot about everyone else in the room as his world narrowed to the beautiful boy in his line of sight; kissable lips pulled up with mirth, those damn dimples he wanted to swipe his tongue through every time they appeared, the unruly mop of curls that always looked so soft and enticing, his cheekbones high and jaw line so sculpted it actually made him pretty. Women fawned over that face. Jonny could stare at him for hours, watching every emotion Patrick felt become visible on his face and in those infinity eyes blue enough to make the ocean jealous.

 

Sharpy’s elbow pushing into his ribs forced him out of his daze as he looked out at the expectant faces of the crowd. He glanced at Sharpy, who had the same, if slightly amused, expectancy on his face, and Jonny realized someone must have directed a question at him. They had moved on.

 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” Jonny leaned into the microphone to speak while another flush crept up his neck.

 

“Does Patrick Kane get on your nerves?” came a child’s voice. They laughed again. Jonny squinted against the blinding lights to find the source of the voice; a small girl, probably no older than five or six, wearing an oversized Blackhawks T-shirt that dwarfed her small frame and being held in the arms of a man who must have been her father. Another pang of longing went straight to his insides at the sight and he glanced at Patrick again, who looked bashful but also curious to hear the answer.

 

“That’s a really good question actually,” Jonny began, grinning, shifting in his seat as he told his own story.

************

The convention wound down at 10 p.m. and everyone was supposed to be out of the buildings by 10:30, but Jonny was not ready to go home quite yet. He asked around to find out if any of the other guys had plans; it was weird not having some of his usual drinking buddies around, and many of the ones that were had wives or girlfriends they wanted to go home to. He couldn’t find Patrick to ask what he was doing, his phone was dead so he resigned himself to going home and drinking a couple beers just to take the edge off. Crow walked up to him in the parking lot and said he was having a couple guys over for beers and video games, if Jonny was interested.

 

After going home to change into shorts and a T-shirt, Jonny drove back across the city to Crow’s apartment near Lake Shore Drive. He noticed Patrick’s obnoxious metallic purple Hummer parked on the street. _The guy makes a million dollars a year and chose to buy that ozone-killing, ugly-ass, gas-eating box on wheels? Why the hell am I attracted to him again?_

 

Jonny parked behind Patrick’s SUV – tank, actually – and walked to the door, letting himself into the ground-level apartment because Crow only locked his door when he wasn’t home. Jonny figured he was either the most trusting dude on the planet or very confident in his fighting skills to take down an intruder. It was a little known fact Crow held a black belt in karate and spent some of his free time boxing at the gym. Still, Jonny would much rather be safe than sorry, but Crow was his own unique blend of crazy so Jonny never asked him about his aversion to locks.

 

“Jonny Toe-ez!” Crow welcomed his friend and captain, throwing up his arms and sloshing beer over the sides of the cup in his hand, obviously having already partaken of one or two of those cups.

 

“Dude!” Seabs wiped beer from where it had splashed onto his arm then wiped his hand on Corey’s shirt.

 

“Aw, sorry, babe,” the goalie giggled. He grabbed his boyfriend’s arm, running his tongue up the length of Brent’s forearm, then grinned and smacked his lips together. “Mmmm, tasty.”

 

Then they were wrapped up in each other. Jonny rolled his eyes and wandered off to find Patrick, who was grabbing a beer for himself out of the fridge. He stood just over the threshold for a minute, silently checking out the smaller man’s backside sticking up in the air from being bent into the fridge before he straightened to close the door.

 

Patrick turned, twisting the top off the bottle, grinning when he noticed Jonny watching him, “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Jonny answered, his voice coming out lower and breathier than normal. He walked further into the kitchen to get his own beer. “You don’t want to go in there. Brent and Corey are getting fresh on the couch.”

 

Patrick laughed and jumped up on the counter to sit, sipping his beer, “Yeah, I think there was some pre-gaming before I got here; at least on Corey’s part. Brent seems to be fairly with it.”

 

“So,” Jonny dragged out the word as he shuffled toward Patrick. Even perched on the counter, Patrick was still shorter but closer to eye level than if they were both standing. “I talked to my parents.”

 

“That’s good, Jonny. I usually talk to mine everyday.”

 

Jonny was standing in between Patrick’s spread legs now and he set his bottle of beer on the counter. Without thinking, he placed his free hands on his best friend’s thighs, just above his knees, “No, dumbass, I talked to them about….you know.”

 

“Your sexual preference for men?” Patrick swallowed, meeting Jonny’s gaze, hoping his coy grin hid how his body responded to the other man’s nearness and casual touch. Jonny’s bowed head to hide his blush was cute.

 

“I….it’s still weird to say. Or to think of myself as….gay,” Jonny admitted, “but yes, I told them.”

 

“How’d it go? I mean, I’m assuming they took it well. You seem pretty normal. Your face isn’t more grumpy than usual.”

 

“Shut up, I’m a delight.”

 

“Okay, Jonny,” Patrick reached out and patted the back of Jonny’s head. It was supposed to be friendly and condescending, but then his hand stayed there, in Jonny’s dark hair, and both of their breaths hitched.

 

“Um, it went well. My mom and dad are both very supportive, and they kind of had a feeling I was,” Jonny’s voice was deeper, a little rough like after games when he shouted too much. “They said it was all the touching and, apparently, I act different around guys than girls. Then they asked if I was into you.”

 

Jonny didn’t blink, his dark eyes boring into Patrick’s wide blue ones, “And?”

 

“Yes, yes I am,” Jonny said barely above a whisper, his thumbs moving across the fabric of Patrick’s khaki shorts. The hems were frayed, the fabric soft and washed out like he had worn and washed this particular pair hundreds of times before. He dipped his head to rest his forehead against Patrick’s, closing his eyes and concentrating on Patrick’s firm, warm hand at the back of his neck. It was crazy that they had touched each other probably thousands of times – ass taps on the ice, arms slung across shoulders, friendly punches in the arm – yet this touch felt significant. Like a line had been crossed; their hearts so intricately entwined that friendship suddenly wasn’t enough. It was as frightening as it was exciting. “But it is so fucking scary, Patrick. It’s our reputations, our careers, our entire fucking team on the line.”

 

“I know,” Patrick murmured, stroking his thumb gently along Jonny’s hairline.

 

“Do you think we can make it?”

 

Right to the point. That’s part of the reason why Patrick liked his captain and best friend. He voiced what was on his mind. No bluff or fluff; just straight up Jonathan Toews. But Patrick didn’t have an answer to that question. He didn’t need to see the big picture or the end of the plan like Jonny did. He only knew how he felt, and he didn’t want to get to the end of his life and find out he regretted not doing something that felt right.

 

“Do _you_ think we can, Jonny?”

 

The captain looked down at his right winger and shrugged, his eyes scrunched up in that way he does when there is so much going on in his mind that he doesn’t know how to process it. Patrick traced his thumb over the crinkles in Jonny’s forehead, smoothing them out and offering the assurance of his touch and nearness.

 

“I don’t know, Patrick,” Jonny whispered, wrecked, as if this was something he had gone over in his head hundreds of times; as if it was a well thought out hockey play he just could not make work in reality. “I don’t know.” Patrick swallowed and averted his eyes, moving away from Jonny just enough so their faces were not so close, but the taller man still had his hands on Patrick’s thighs. He tamped down the spear of disappointment in his gut, hoping Jonny couldn’t see it written on his facial features. He knew his captain, his best friend, hated surprises. He planned everything to a fault, but this time Jonny was unable to know the outcome. Still, his hesitation hurt. Was he unable to trust Patrick? Did he not have faith in their friendship? Because Patrick was so sure he would live and die for his captain and best friend.

 

He settled his warm palm on the back of Jonny’s neck and dipped his head slightly to force him to look at his face again. The taller man lifted his chin, dark pupils unblinking and boring into Patrick’s gentle, half-lidded blue ones, heart hammering in his chest as he studied his best friend’s beautiful face in the dim kitchen light.

 

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Patrick whispered, wetting his lips with his tongue, an action Jonny knew as a sign of nerves or discomfort. The hand on Jonny’s nape tightened, Patrick’s thumb caressing over soft skin and sending delighted shivers down Jonny’s spine despite the heat of the summer outside. “You know, I don’t think we have to have it all figured out right now. We’re fucking living the dream, Jonny! Stanley Cup champs, playing hockey for a _living_ , and all of it could be over at any moment. No one can predict the future, baby, so why not live in the moment? I like you. You like me. Maybe we take it a day at a time and see what happens. I mean, isn’t that what Seabs and Crow have been doing for two years?”

 

Jonny sighed, dropping his forehead against Patrick’s again, “It’s all so new. Please be patient with me, Peeks.”

 

“Are you two just gonna neck all night or are we gonna get this party started?” Crow’s loud, slurred voice cut into the moment. Jonny jumped back and grabbed his beer, leaning back against the counter as if the drunken goalie hadn’t just caught him between Patrick’s legs.

 

“Seems like you’ve already brought the party, Crow,” Jonny commented, sipping from the bottle in his hand.

 

Corey grinned and lifted his own beer in salute as Brent appeared at his side in the doorway, “’Ey, Captain Snarky, we need to get _you_ drunk. Whaddya say there, Kaner, eh? We gotta loosen this guy up a little.” Brent crooked one arm around his boyfriend’s neck, grinning, but caught Patrick’s gaze and shook his head slightly.

 

Patrick laughed, looking from Brent and Corey to Jonny and back again, nudging his best friend with his bare foot, “Well, I don’t know about that. He’s not fun hungover and I gotta be with him all day tomorrow.”

 

“You all are literally the worst,” Jonny retorted.

 

“Oh my god, babe, we should totally play drunk darts!” Corey exclaimed as if he just had the most original idea in the world.

 

“No, my love, no we should not,” Brent deadpanned, tapping his boyfriend’s chest. The inebriated goaltender craned his neck to frown at the taller man, his dark eyes scrunched up and lips pursed as if to say _how dare you say no to my awesome idea._ Brent kissed the creases in Corey’s forehead. Patrick’s insides flipped at the display of tenderness, and he looked over to gauge how Jonny was reacting to this new affection between friends and teammates they had known for years. But the captain’s facial expression was imperceptible as he continued drinking his beer.

 

“How about drunk Monopoly?” Brent suggested instead and Corey’s face brightened again.

 

“Yes! I love your brain! I knew it wasn’t just your pretty face I liked.”

 

Brent chuckled and blushed, giving his boyfriend a fond look before raising his eyes back to Jonny and Patrick, “Eh? El Drunko already has a head start.”

 

“What makes it _drunk_ Monopoly?” Patrick wanted to know.

 

“If you land in jail you can take a shot to get out early,” Brent answered. Corey cut in, “Or if you get a Chance card you can take a shot instead of paying the other players, if you want.”

 

“All right, you are all going down,” Jonny pushed off the counter and clapped his big palm on Patrick’s knee.

 

“Psh, yeah right, I’m the fucking bomb at Monopoly,” Patrick jumped off the counter, grabbing his drink.

 

“What? Who the fuck says that?” Jonny bumped the smaller man’s shoulder.

 

“That was the only game I could win at against my sisters….mostly because they got bored after awhile.”

 

Jonny laughed, casually laying his arm across Patrick’s shoulders as the followed Brent and Corey into the living room, “Well, I won’t get bored.”

 

Patrick jerked his head to look up at his best friend, heart hammering in his chest at the mere nearness of the guy he has had a crush on for years. _And what the hell was that comment, said so nonchalant? Was that Jonny flirting?_ Or maybe it was his weird way of answering his own question from their earlier conversation. Patrick was going to need some of those vodka shots just to quiet the confusion in his head.

 

Corey practically sat on Brent’s lap on the couch as they spread the game out on the coffee table while Jonny and Patrick each took one of the comfortable plush chairs in the room. They pulled the chairs up around the coffee table, close enough to each other for their knees to touch, but it could also be because Jonny’s legs were so damn long and he tended to spread out like a starfish. The four friends played an expedited version of the game but it was still after one in the morning when Jonny did emerge as the victor, mostly because he had hotels on Park Place and Boardwalk. Corey and Brent were both wasted, having lost interest in the game, much less winning, while Patrick had landed on Jonny’s expensive properties one too many times. They didn’t need to count their play money to know who won, but Jonny counted his anyway just to rub it in.

 

Curled around Brent’s big body with his head on the defenseman’s shoulder, Corey’s eyes were so heavy he would probably be asleep in minutes. Jonny had only had a couple beers while Patrick had partaken of a few shots to get out of jail and was feeing very buzzed. Brent offered the couch and the guest room, but Jonny wanted to sleep in his own bed for the few hours they had until they needed to be awake and ready for day two of the convention. Patrick knew he should not be driving but he also did not want to be the third wheel with these two drunk lovebirds, even if they were probably too drunk to actually do anything explicit. It wasn’t a chance he wanted to take. Brent carried his boyfriend to bed, leaving the booze, empty cups and game to be cleaned up in the morning.

 

“C’mon, Patrick, you’re coming home with me,” Jonny cuffed his palm on the blonde’s knee, pushing himself to his feet then offering his hand to pull Patrick up too. The smaller man didn’t argue and allowed his tired body to lean into his best friend’s embrace as they walked to Jonny’s car. He could come back for his Hummer tomorrow. Jonny lead Patrick to the passenger’s side of his car, opening the door and helping the sleepy, slightly drunk winger inside.

 

Patrick must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was hearing that soft, deep voice he knew so well, letting him know they had arrived at Jonny’s condo. With their arms wrapped each other for support, the two men stumbled inside where Jonny deposited a somnolent Patrick on the couch. He removed the winger’s shoes then covered him with the Blackhawks blanket draped over the back of the couch. Patrick sighed, snuggling deeper under the cover, but his eyes never opened and the steady rise and fall of his chest indicated he was asleep. Jonny looked down at his best friend, seemingly smaller than he already was and vulnerable with those crazy curls splayed out on the couch pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, and it felt like Jonny’s heart swelled in his chest at the sight. He lightly ran a tentative hand through the blonde’s soft hair, leaning down gently lay his lips against Patrick’s warm forehead.

 

"Sweet dreams,  _mon cher_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been absent for a bit. Life is crazy and I've been writing out some other ideas. Be patient with me, please. Thank you thank you thank you for your love and comments. I love you all! Find me on Twitter and Tumblr (search for introvertedtherapy). Much love!


	8. It's so cliche to tell you that every day I spend with you is the new best day of my life....

The Monday after the convention, Patrick flew home to Buffalo, packed a duffle bag with clean clothes, kissed his sisters and parents goodbye again and was on a plane headed to Canada. He was definitely looking forward the next week or so at Jonny’s new house, despite the fact they would not be alone. He knew Brent and Corey would be there, as would Jonny’s brother, but there would be no demands on his time. Patrick’s plan was to relax and drink with his friends, spend as much time out on the boat as the unpredictable Winnipeg weather would allow and figure out what he and Jonny were going to do about their feelings for each other, before the busy hockey season started again.

 

Jonny picked him up at the Winnipeg airport, but they only made small talk on the 40-mile drive through the Canadian countryside to the captain’s house on the lake. When Jonny pulled into the curving driveway, Patrick’s jaw dropped. Jonny had not been completely honest – or at the very least had severely down-played – the sheer awesomeness of his house. It was set back from the road with a long driveway and large front yard sloping up to the modest brick-and-stone tri-level. A wooden detached four-car garage sat to the side but had the same dark brown trim and beige doors to match the house. The closest neighbors were half a mile down the road in either direction, and large evergreens surrounded the property for even further privacy. It was a beautiful piece of prime Canadian real estate and it all belonged to Jonny; his little slice of heaven away from the demands of his job and the prying eyes of the media.

 

Jonathan grabbed Patrick’s huge suitcase from the backseat of his Mercedes-Benz and lead him inside. The front door opened up into the main living space and a modern kitchen looking out to the dock and lake that was Jonny’s backyard. A short flight of stairs led up to the second-level bedrooms and bathrooms. Another flight of stairs went down to the finished basement, which had been converted into another living room and walked out into the backyard where Jonny’s boat was moored to the dock. For a tri-level there was a surprising lack of dividing walls and doors, only what was necessary to hold the house together and offer privacy in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Corey, Brent and David were gathered around the giant television in the basement playing Madden ’10.

 

“You can have the third bedroom across the hall from Seabs and Crow’s room, and David will sleep on the couch,” Jonny explained as he took Patrick’s suitcase directly upstairs to the guest bedroom.

 

“I really don’t mind taking the couch,” Patrick followed, lugging his backpack and duffel bag.

 

“Nah, he’s fine. He’s only gonna be here through the weekend, then he has to go back to school.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Patrick smiled at the taller man as he walked into the room to set his things down. The bed was neatly made, definitely an anomaly in the Toews household, so Patrick was touched that Jonny put in the effort to….what, impress him? Make him feel at home? Well, he was kind of impressed. He was not even aware Jonny knew how to make a bed, but right now was not the time to tease him about it.

 

“Um, we’re downstairs playing Madden if you want to join, or you can take a nap, whatever,” Jonny stood in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets while he shifted on his feet. “There are towels on the sink in the bathroom down the hall. Sorry you have to share it with Seabs and Crow. Um, we’re gonna take the boat out this afternoon if you wanna go. You don’t have to if you’re tired or just need to be alone.”

 

“Jonny,” Patrick went to his friend and placed a firm hand on his broad shoulder, forcing him to focus on Patrick’s face, “it’s fine. This is all great. Thanks for having me.”

 

Jonny pressed his lips together and nodded once, then gently squeezed Patrick’s shoulder and backed out of the doorway to return to his other house guests. Patrick sighed and watched him go then went to sit on the bed and survey the room. There was a dresser and a closet, a nightstand and lamp, and that was all as far as furniture and décor. The walls were painted a light mint green, and the sunlight filtering through the windows made the room bright and welcoming despite Jonny’s minimalist taste.

 

He knew it was going to be different when he came here because of everything that had happened over the past month, but he did not plan on the awkwardness of it all. Mostly on Jonny’s part. They were still best friends, though – and teammates – despite the new feelings now working their way into the Kane-and-Toews dynamic. They were all still trying to work past the shocking revelation about Brent and Corey, too. Patrick was amazed – and maybe slightly terrified – that those two had managed to keep their relationship and sexual orientation a secret for three years. In that time, Patrick had shared meals with those guys, skated on the same line as Brent, spent nearly every waking moment with them for nine months out of the year, and he never – none of the guys on the team – ever caught on that they were sleeping together. The media hadn’t figured it out either. If hockey did not work out for those two, the CIA would probably take them for their secret-keeping abilities alone.

 

Patrick _was_ tired from the flight and anticipation of being with Jonny in such an intimate setting, but he wanted to be with his friends. Hopefully, the weird tension hanging over Jonny would disappear the more they just hung out as friends even with this new knowledge they had of each other. At the convention, they had been around their hockey friends and fans, thinking about their jobs and reliving recent memories of winning the Stanley Cup. The atmosphere had been fun, light-hearted, celebratory and there hadn’t been time to talk or even think much about the cosmic shift in their relationship. Yes, the unpacking could wait.

 

“Hey, Peeks!” Corey called out as Patrick wandered downstairs. David, Corey and Brent were crammed together on the couch while Jonny sprawled across the recliner, but their attention was focused on the TV where David’s New York Jets were schooling Brent’s Chicago Bears. Patrick remained on the last stair step and leaned against the railing, his eyes darting between the action on the TV and his friends.

 

“Does anyone else see the irony in two Canadians playing a game of American football?” Patrick smirked.

 

“Oh shut up, I’m about to whoop this professional hockey player’s a-s-s!” David proclaimed, then threw up his hands in victory. “Touch down, Jets! You’re done, man! There’s no way you can come back now.”

 

“You watch me, asshole,” Brent’s focused expression and set shoulders were the same as if they were down four goals in the last five minutes of a hockey game. It was not over until the final buzzer and Brent believed anything was possible if he worked hard enough. He should know, too. He had done the impossible on ice before, and Patrick was curious to see if he could do it now. He noticed Corey was pressed up against his boyfriend’s side, his right hand resting casually on Brent’s thigh as he watched the game and interjected his own trash talk every so often. He looked happy. Content. Able to be who he was and do what he wanted without anyone asking questions or judging him. Corey was another media target because of his impulsive potty mouth and apathy towards trying to impress people. As a goaltender, he also got a bad rap as being brainless and dumb, but the only opinion that mattered was the man’s sitting next to him.

 

Here it was normal for Corey to be touching his boyfriend without even thinking about it and hanging out with their friends. It _should_ be normal regardless. They should not have to hide their feelings or who they were just because of some outdated and misguided social construct. Except that it had been ingrained into their heads since they were kids that hockey was a “manly-man’s sport” and boys were supposed to fall in love with girls; and apparently, social rules said, one equated the other.

 

Jonny looked over and grinned, his dark eyes alight with joy at being with his closest friends and having nothing to hide. Patrick’s heart rate increased and he felt his cheeks flush at the pure beauty that was his best friend Jonny. Even lounging around in his old, fraying cargo shorts and a simple black V-neck T-shirt he was the most beautiful guy Patrick had ever seen, and he was quite certain he was in love.


	9. Let me be the one who calls you baby all the time....

On Jonny’s boat in the middle of a Canadian lake with three of his closest friends and the sweetest Pitbull Terrier mix dog, Patrick decided if the day ever came where he could no longer play hockey then this was right where he wanted to be. The balmy air sifted through his grown-out curls, the choppy waves buffeting the boat were calming, there was beer in the cooler, and no one had expectations other than having a good time and chirping David for falling off the wakeboard. They all had their turn on the wakeboard and falling off, but by far David had the worst balance and they were going to remind him of it every chance they could. Jonny, of course, was an all-star wakeboarder. Not only did he remain on his feet, but he could bend, twist and pull tricks on the board just as easily as if he were on skates.

 

Patrick was beginning to think there was nothing Jonathan could not do and excel in. Well, maybe golf. He thought back to the various golf outings they had during the season – the one with their fathers was especially memorable. He grinned at the image of a frustrated Jonny banging his nine iron against the fairway because his ball somehow landed in the sand trap again, or cursing at the putter because instead of falling in the hole, his golf ball skimmed the edge and landed a few inches beyond where he intended. Patrick knew he practiced golfing in the off-season, and he was improving to the point where he could make par on about every other hole, but Jonny was for sure not born to play golf.

 

The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky with purple, orange and pink, casting that soft, early evening glow over everything. No one was ready to head back yet, so David meandered the boat along the scenic route around the lake, passing gorgeous million-dollar vacation homes and mansions surrounded by tall trees and the natural architecture of this area of Winnipeg. Patrick was lounging on a deck chair taking in the scenery and sipping a beer, enjoying the serene laziness of the perfect evening. Jonny’s low voice rumbled through the still night as he talked to his brother, and Seabs and Crow were standing at the front of the boat. Patrick watched as the not-naturally affectionate Brent relaxed his big body into Corey’s and slipped his arm around the slightly shorter man’s waist. The fond expression on Corey’s face when he turned his head to lay his lips in Seabs’ dark, windblown hair was unmistakable and sent a stab of want straight to Patrick’s heart. Those two were just enjoying each other’s company, looking out at the same beautiful landscape, basking in the warm evening breeze, content to be together.

 

“Hey,” Jonny’s deep, gentle timbre and light touch on his shoulder pulled Patrick from his reverie and he realized he was staring at the couple at the front of the boat. Patrick looked over at Jonny in the deck chair beside his, Julia lying across his bare feet, a half-finished bottle of beer on the boat deck between them.

 

“Hey,” Patrick smiled and swigged his beer. “Thanks for having me, man. For this. It’s perfect. Man, if I lived here I would never want to go back to Chicago.”

 

A slow smile spread across Jonny’s face as he surveyed the lake layed out before them, “It’s not easy, but I love my job. I love being with my team.”

 

Patrick rested his head back against the chair and nodded an agreement to Jonny’s statement while also glancing at his friend as they sat beside each other in silence for a while. Jonny turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of lake water and the aspens, maples and pine trees dotting the shoreline, a lazy grin playing at his lips. His tanned skin and the setting sun softened his high cheekbones and strong jaw line, or maybe it was just what Jonny looked like when he was relaxed. The ever-present crease of his forehead during the hockey season was gone, his dark wavy hair longer and tousled by lake water and wind. If Jonny was good-looking any other time, he was gorgeous right now.

 

“So crazy about those two, eh?” Jonny nudged Patrick’s bare foot with his own, then just left it there; in Patrick’s foot space, toes touching heel like this is just what male best friends do.

 

“Yeah, did you have any idea?” Patrick hoped their casual conversation belied the hammering of the heart in his chest.

 

The other man tipped his head against the chair back and turned his face to Patrick, “No. I had heard rumors from a couple players around the league who saw them out in Vancouver during the Olympics, but I just shrugged it off as two friends and teammates getting dinner or something. Well then during that first series back – we were in Columbus – I had forgotten my phone in the locker room and I, uh, interrupted them.”

 

Patrick chuckled at the dark red blush spread over Jonny’s cheeks and the crooked smirk on his lips, “Oh god, Jonny, so what’d you do? No, no, better yet, what did _they_ do?”

 

“Well, I basically froze. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice I was there, and I tried to think of ways I could get across the room, grab my phone and get the hell out before an awkward conversation ensued, but no dice. They heard me, and I said something stupid like ‘so I guess the rumors are true’.”

 

The American outright laughed at that admission, his blue eyes shining with mirth and his boyish, handsome face so open that even Jonny could read every emotion his best friend was feeling. He couldn’t help but laugh too, sharing a fleeting moment of unadulterated joy with the one person in the world who understood him maybe even better than he understood himself.

 

“What did they say to that?”

 

“They just admitted to it and said they’d been dating for almost a year, then I was sworn to secrecy, so I’ve been carrying this story around for, like, five months.” Jonny’s dark eyes – usually so focused and intent on winning, on achieving the lofty goals he set for himself – were warm in the waning sun as he gazed at the man sitting beside him. Suddenly, he wanted everything he never even dreamed he could have. There were always hard choices in life, and in Jonny’s mind he would have to choose between hockey _or_ a family until he could no longer play the game. But looking at Patrick, having experienced most of the past three years together and remaining friends despite the striking differences in their worldviews and what they wanted out of life – Jonny so driven to better himself and Patrick with talent as raw as his emotions – he wondered if he could have both right now. He was at least willing to try. If Corey and Brent could be together for so long and keep it hidden from the team and the media, then Jonny was certain he and Patrick could do the same. He just did not want his hockey and captain persona to interfere with his personal life and vice versa.

 

It was dark when David pulled the boat up against the dock. Brent and Corey held on to each other as they said good night to their friends and headed up to the house. Patrick gathered up the empty beer cans and dropped them in the now-empty cooler while Jonny made sure everything on the boat was locked up and secure. David hopped out onto the dock and tied it off then called Julia and said his good night, grabbing the cooler as he and the dog wandered off. Jonny did not know whether to kiss his brother or punch him for his not-so-subtle insinuation that he needed to talk to Patrick alone.

 

“Hey, wait,” Jonny latched onto Patrick’s arm before he could climb out of the boat. The smaller man froze and looked down at the strong hand gripping his forearm, then his half-lidded eyes raised to see Jonny’s earnest face, the relaxed set of his eyes more vulnerable than he’s ever seen before. Then both of the bigger man’s hands were in his hair, pulling his face in as Jonny leaned down and kissed him. A crushing, quick meeting of the lips at first, then Jonny eased back and Patrick followed, settling his palms on Jonny’s waist. Patrick couldn’t be sure if he actually let out a desperate whine or if it was just in his head, but kissing Jonny was every bit as good as he imagined it would be. He did not care if the whole world knew, and he especially did not care if Jonny knew just how eager he was for him.

 

Patrick felt his lungs drain of air at Jonny’s touch, his heart beating so hard in his chest that his head was light and dizzy. If Jonny wasn’t holding him up, Patrick was sure he would just slide into a lovesick heap on the boat deck. Then, as abruptly as the kiss began, Jonny pulled his mouth away and brought their foreheads together with his hands at the back of Patrick’s neck, both men panting harsh breaths.

 

“Jonny,” Patrick spoke first, low and desperate, licking his lips to taste the sweetness Jonny left behind. A second later, reality set in; their careers, their teammates, their families. Because as much as Patrick wanted to love Jonny without being shadowed by fear and prejudice, he was not dumb enough to think that everything would be easy. The media circus alone would probably split them apart quicker than that kiss had just been. It was Jonny’s reputation he was worried about. “Jonny, I – we—,”

 

“Stop,” Jonny ordered, big hands firm on the smaller man’s neck to prevent him from backing away, forcing eye contact. “Patrick, I don’t make impulsive decisions, so if I kiss you it’s because I want to….and I most _definitely_ want to. I think we’ve been skirting around each other for a long time, but I don’t want to do that anymore. _I like you._ You made it very clear how you feel about me. We both know it’s a longshot, but I’m willing – no, I _want_ – to take it if you do, too.”

 

The slow grin pulling across Patrick’s face and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners sent a shock to Jonny’s heart and lungs, “I have never heard so many feelings come tumbling out of your mouth at one time.”

 

Jonny rolled his eyes, but his thumbs were rubbing small circles in the sensitive flesh of Patrick’s collarbone and it was very distracting, “Just answer the question, smart ass.”

 

“Of course I do, Jonny. Now kiss me again.”

 

Patrick’s fingers threaded through the Canadian’s thick dark hair and applied enough pressure on his scalp to pull the taller man’s face down to his, where he latched onto his lips as if they were his only source of oxygen. This time, Patrick was ready for the kiss, and he pressed the front of his body as tight up against Jonny’s as he could but it still was not close enough. Jonny’s lips were gentle at first as they caressed Patrick’s, then his hands gripped Patrick’s curls and his tongue slid along his bottom lip as if asking for permission. He didn’t need it because Patrick all too willingly opened his mouth and let out a sigh while Jonny’s tongue invaded, swirling into the sweet wet cavern, finding Patrick’s tongue and rubbing them together until the kiss was a frenzied, sloppy meeting of tongues and lips. Both men tugged on the other’s hair, fingertips digging into scalp as if they had been waiting their whole lives for this moment and were now holding onto it for dear life.

 

He did not even realize they had moved until Jonny pulled away and Patrick found himself backed up against the railing of the boat, for which he was grateful because his knees were not very trustworthy at the moment. Jonny settled one strong hand on Patrick’s hip and molded the other one along his clavicle and shoulder as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses down the shorter man’s stubbled jaw then nipped at his neck; teeth biting and tongue soothing the fevered flesh. Patrick dropped his head back; a breathless whine escaped his throat. Suddenly, Jonny’s shorts felt too tight and he pressed his lower body against Patrick to let him feel how much he was affected. Patrick was just as turned on, his fingers flexing in Jonny’s hair as he took the onslaught of pleasure and wished for more.

 

“Patrick, I….” Jonny’s voice was low and rough when he pulled his lips from Patrick’s neck and raised one hand to cup his face, thumb running slow, smooth lines across his flushed cheek. Jonny met his best friend’s eyes, as blue as a clear Canadian summer sky surrounded by lashes that went on for days, but it was the expectant, honest emotions so blatant on his face that did him in. He was so far gone for his best friend that it frightened him; the thought of losing Patrick to a trade. Or what if he ever decided he was tired of trying to figure out what Jonny is feeling and thinking or realized it was too difficult to be with someone so different from him? That is the kind of emotional scarring Jonny knew he would never get over, and he never wanted to give another person that much power over his private life. “I think we should take this up to the house.”

 

The small smile did not quite reach Patrick’s eyes, but he nodded in agreement and turned his head to place a kiss in Jonny’s palm. They walked hand-in-hand up the yard to Jonny’s house, neither saying a word. They tiptoed past David sprawled across the couch and Julia curled up on top of him, both asleep, and went up the stairs to Jonny’s room at the other end of the hall from the guest bedrooms. Patrick felt like he was entering sacred space as he stepped inside his best friend’s bedroom – and maybe he was. This was the first time he had ever been invited into Jonny’s bedroom despite the half-dozen or so times he has been to the Toews’ house in the last three years. Jonny has been to his house just as often and the first thing he did was show off his bedroom filled with the Sabres and Blackhawks memorabilia he has been collecting since childhood, his own hockey achievement awards, and the signed Denis Savard jersey on his wall. Patrick’s house – or rather, his parents’ – as well as his Trump Tower apartment were free reign for anyone as far as he was concerned.

 

Jonny, on the other hand, had always restricted his friends to the main living areas and basement when he was at his parents’ house and the bedroom door at his condo was always closed whenever people were over. Despite his propensity to toss dirty clothes on the floor and let them pile up, Jonny’s bedroom was clean. It was also huge so the clothes could pile up for quite some time before overtaking the floor space. A king-sized bed sat against the far wall under two windows looking out to the side yard, and on the opposite wall was a bay window with a view of the backyard and lake. There was a weight stand in one corner, a desk that appeared to function as a catch-all for anything that would fit on it, a plush rolling executive chair, and a dresser covered with more junk. The cushion and throw pillows on the bay window seat must have been courtesy of Mrs. Toews because other than a couple signed hockey sweaters and photos, Jonny’s decorating was non-existent. Not even a Stanley Cup ring or his Norris Trophy were prominently displayed. The sheets on the bed were rumpled but it looked like Jonny had at least attempted to make the bed earlier in the day, and that made Patrick smile. He turned his face to Jonny, who was leaning back against the closed bedroom door, watching Patrick surveying his space.

 

“You need an interior decorator,” Patrick decided.

 

“Oh shut up,” Jonny rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the door, then he was manhandling Patrick toward the gigantic bed, “I didn’t invite you in here to nag about my housekeeping skills, or lack thereof.” He dropped quick, light kisses on Patrick’s lips, cheek, brow, his hands gripping the other man’s hips.

 

“Nag?” Patrick teased between kisses, tilting his head to give Jonny access to his neck. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, you silver-tongued devil you.”

 

Jonny shut him up by taking his lips in a languid kiss, slipping his tongue into Patrick’s mouth when he felt him sigh. He took his time to explore his right winger’s mouth, tongue lazily sweeping through sweet saliva, running over his teeth, tasting the roof of his mouth and the insides of his cheeks; all the while, Patrick responded in kind and let out a quiet groan as their tongues dueled and twisted around each other. When Jonny had his fill, he broke the kiss by pushing Patrick down onto the bed. He landed on his ass in the middle of the huge bed and Jonny followed, slipping his left knee between Patrick’s and pressing their torsos together so he was practically sitting on the smaller man’s thigh. Jonny grabbed the curls at Patrick’s neck and swooped in again for a hungry French kiss. Patrick moaned again, smoothing his hands down his captain’s broad, muscular chest and ripped abs to play at the hem of his shirt. The other man arched into his touch, pressing the bulge in his shorts against Patrick’s strong thigh.

 

“Jonny,” the name wrenched from Patrick’s throat on a breathy whine, and Jonny’s cock twitched in his already uncomfortably restrictive shorts.

 

“ _Putain! Touchez moi, Patrick!”_ Jonny rasped. Patrick understood enough French to obey that command. His hands slipped under his T-shirt to touch warm, hard flesh as Jonny peppered light nips down his face and neck, unconsciously rocking his hips in a slow rhythm, grinding his crotch into Patrick’s thigh. Patrick slid his hands up Jonny’s sides, the hem of his shirt hooked on his thumbs as he went until it was on the floor and Patrick had free reign of his captain’s bare chest. He took a moment to admire Jonny’s beauty. It was like he was sculpted from the finest stone; his skin tanned from days spent on the lake and every muscle well-defined under his skin from years of hockey conditioning. But then Jonny’s sneaky hand palmed Patrick’s cock through the fabric of his shorts, and he responded by wrapping his hands around the back of Jonny’s neck to pull him down. He murmured something in French, probably absolutely filthy but it sounded so lovely spilling out of the Canadian’s raw, red lips, and Patrick nipped at his earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. Jonny shivered.

 

“ _Tu me rends fou, Patrick! Prends moi, mon cheri!_ Take me, Patrick, _s’il vous plait._ ”

 

“Are you a virgin, Jonny?”

 

The other man’s body tensed and he pulled Patrick’s face from the crook of his neck to see how he would react to the answer.

 

“ _Oui_ ,” Jonny nodded, pupils blown wide, his dark eyes not meeting his best friend’s blue, just-as-gone ones, but Patrick took his face in between his hands and forced their eyes to lock.

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jonny,” Patrick reassured, thumbs massaging gentle circles into Jonny’s flushed cheeks, “and I don’t want you to think you have to do something you’re not ready for.”

 

Jonny wanted to melt under the American’s hockey-calloused hands and patient words. The evidence of what Patrick wanted pressed firm against Jonny’s inner thigh yet he was still willing to back off to preserve Jonny’s innocence? He threaded his fingers through the hand on his right cheek and brought Patrick’s palm down to cover his heart, to feel the erratic pumping of the blood through his naked chest; all because of him.

 

“ _Je ne veux pas attendre. Je veux que vous, mon coeur. Je suis pret pour toi.”_ He turned his head to kiss the palm of Patrick’s other hand against his cheek then dragged the hem of Patrick’s shirt up and over his head, tossing the clothing somewhere in the vicinity of his own discarded shirt. Patrick grinned, showing off his straight white teeth and slight dimples, as he shoved Jonny’s shoulders until the Canadian was sprawled on his back. Then Patrick moved up his body dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses from the trail of hair at Jonny’s navel, up his hard, defined abs and pecs, and ending at his neck. Jonny rewarded him with desperate whines and hands roaming his body to find every rippling muscle and smooth curve.

 

Finally, Patrick’s lips landed on Jonny’s again, their tongues twisting together for dominance in the other’s mouth. He dropped his hands to undo Jonny’s shorts, and the taller man lifted his hips allowing Patrick to push his shorts and boxers down over his lush ass and huge thighs. For several moments, his clever hands took in the naked landscape of Jonny’s body, squeezing his famous ass before running his palms up the muscular plane of his back and over rippling shoulder blades. He had been admiring this body from afar since he was 18, but now that Jonny was actually under his hands – under him – Patrick was convinced he was touching absolute perfection. Years of hockey and a strict diet/exercise routine made him seem like a damn Greek sculpture except his skin was so warm, so alive. He sat back on his haunches to admire his captain’s naked body, flush with nerves and arousal. Their eyes met – Jonny’s dark with lust; Patrick’s half-lidded and filled with adoration.

 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Patrick whispered, rubbing a gentle palm along Jonny’s collarbone and shoulder.

 

Jonny tugged at the other man’s shorts, struggling to remember the English language, “Off.” He rolled his lower body up to push his erection into Patrick’s crotch and moaned at the sensation of the course khaki rubbing against his hard, sensitive flesh. Patrick smirked down at him, licking his lips, enjoying being the source of his captain’s sexual frustration and desperation. For once, he was in control. Jonny would have punched that smug look right off the American’s face if he didn’t also want his cock buried inside him. He would get back at him later, but right now he needed to be fucked and Patrick was the only one who could satiate him.

 

“Do you have lube?” Patrick leaned down to peck a kiss at the corner of Jonny’s eye.

 

“Nightstand. Top drawer,” Jonny managed to pant out. Patrick lifted himself off the other man to kneel beside him on the bed, retrieving the lube and a condom from the fancy wooden bedside table.

 

“Turn over on your stomach, big guy. I don’t want to hurt you your first time,” Patrick patted Jonny’s chest and nudged his side until he rolled over. Jonny cradled the pillow in his arms and turned his head to watch the blonde man strip off the rest of his clothes, then he rested his cheek on the pillow as Patrick rolled the condom down his well-endowed erection and straddled him again. The mattress pressed up against his own thick hardness offered some relief from the pressure built up inside his loins, but it was not enough. He wasn’t totally sure what he needed, but he trusted that the blonde man in between his widespread thighs did. Patrick really preferred being face to face, but he also remembered his first time and wished the guy had been much more gentle, or at least prepared him properly instead of just forcing it in. It took him a few more times before he realized sex was not supposed to be painful; it was supposed to be mutually satisfying regardless if he was on top or bottom. He wanted to ensure Jonny’s pleasure as much as his own.

 

The larger man jumped a little when he felt the cool gel lube and warm fingers prodding at his entrance while Patrick’s other hand kneaded and massaged at Jonny’s ass to make him relax. He pressed his lips into the shallow dent at the base of Jonny’s spine as he ran his lube-coated index finger around the rim of Jonny’s hole, coaxing him to open up for the two slick fingers now sliding through his crack. He moaned, fingers clenching into the pillow and raised his hips when he felt Patrick’s thumb pressing against his entrance to stretch the skin, then one finger slowly pushed inside.

 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Jonny hissed through clenched teeth at the delicious pain of his tight skin stretching for Patrick’s finger, which was unexpectedly thick for a guy with such small hands. Not that they were abnormal for a man Patrick’s size, but they were certainly smaller than Jonny’s. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle his sounds, hopefully enough to not disturb the other dudes in the house who may or may not be sleeping.

 

Patrick pulled his finger back a bit at Jonny’s pained moan and chose to circle his hole again until it was fully coated with the lube. He continued to drop soothing kisses along the small of Jonny’s back and the swell of his ass as he worked him open. Jonny moaned when he felt Patrick’s fingers slowly press inside again, but this time he did not pull back despite the desperate whines and whimpers coming from the man underneath him. Instead, he pushed two fingers in, spreading the tight skin and taking care to spread the lube liberally inside Jonny’s entrance. He let out a frustrated yelp as Patrick dragged his fingers out to the tips then sunk them back in faster and further than before. Jonny’s hips bucked into the bed, needing the friction of the sheets against his raging hard-on, but then Patrick placed a firm hand at the nape of Jonny’s neck and leaned over his back.

 

“Stay still, Jonny,” Patrick growled in his ear. The larger man whimpered as he marveled at how his body opened up for the man on top of him.

 

“ _Patrick, s’il vous plait_ ,” Jonny whined, “ _juste me baiser. Je besoin de vous si mal, mon cheri._ ”

 

He had no idea what the gorgeous man under him was saying, but the effortless foreign words spilling out of Jonny’s lips and the desperation in his tone made Patrick’s cock twitch with need. Part of him wanted to drag it out and enjoy the foreplay, to keep Jonny on the edge for as long as possible so when the inevitable end came it would bring with it the maximum amount of pleasure. The large part of him, though, was in the same dire need. He needed release – inside of Jonny. Patrick ran his thumb once, twice, over the brunette’s slick, stretched hole. Jonny’s breath hitched, then he exhaled as he felt the blonde’s clever left hand fall to his hip and grip tight, lifting his lower body off the bed while Patrick’s right hand guided his own hard cock to settle in the crease of Jonny’s ass right below where they both really wanted it to be.

 

“This is gonna hurt, Jonny. I’m sorry,” Patrick’s tongue pulled Jonny’s earlobe into his mouth and sucked, then he licked up the shell of his ear. The other man moaned and rolled his neck into the American’s teasing mouth, causing his shoulder muscles to ripple against Patrick’s chest.

 

“Shut up and just fuck me, Patrick,” Jonny gasped. Patrick grinned, amazed at the guy’s audacity to command him even in his near helpless state, and he was only too eager to oblige. He quickly lubed up his condom-covered cock with the leftovers on his fingers and pulled Jonny’s huge ass up for easier access. The thick head of Patrick’s hard cock pressed into Jonny’s virgin hole, and he moaned into the pillow at the invasion. The smaller man’s left hand flexed on Jonny’s hip as he slid in deep, enjoying the tightness grasping his cock. Jonny groaned and squirmed under him, feeling impossibly filled, wishing he could see Patrick’s face as he sank into his ass. He appreciated the more experienced man’s patience as he pushed in slowly, occasionally waiting for Jonny’s body to catch up and stretch to accommodate his girth.

 

Patrick braced his right hand between Jonny’s shaking shoulder blades and dipped his head, dropping gentle kisses up Jonny’s spine until he was fully inside. He moaned at the sensation. Jonny’s body fit around him so sweetly, gripping him like a vice. He reached up to entwine his fingers with Jonny’s on the bedspread then began to move.

 

“ _Oohh, dieu, Patrick!”_ Jonny keened and began rutting his cock into the mattress to the same rhythm of Patrick’s cock fucking into his ass.

 

“You feel so good, Jonny,” Patrick growled. “So tight and all mine.”

 

Jonny let out a sharp cry into the pillow as Patrick thrust deep, then tried to chase his cock with his ass as Patrick pulled back but he was effectively pinned to the bed by strong thighs. Patrick’s balls hit Jonny’s clenching ass with every hard thrust and his steady strokes became hard, fast fucking – in, out, in – over and over until Jonny was a writhing, moaning mess underneath him.

 

“So close, Jonny. I’m so close,” Patrick’s heated whisper in his ear and his hot lips rubbing against the sensitive, sweaty flesh of Jonny’s back was so arousing but he couldn’t even touch himself because his hands were still captured in Patrick’s grip.

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” Jonny whining his name in the throes of passion – with his cock buried deep in his ass – was so hot Patrick nearly came just then. This was not merely about his pleasure though. He reached around Jonny’s waist and gripped his cock tight. Every hard push of his hips into Jonny caused Patrick’s hand to slide along Jonny’s erection, and they both moaned.

 

“Fuck! Oh, Patrick, yes! So good. Fuck me. Make me come.”

 

A couple more quick, deep thrusts had Patrick coming with a long groan, his face buried in the dip of Jonny’s spine. He continued to jerk Jonny’s cock and roll his now-languid hips against his captain’s ass even as the pleasure clouded his brain and blurred his vision. He rested his forehead against Jonny’s sweat-slicked back, sliding his hand up and down Jonny’s cock until he felt him tense then release with a gasp, spilling thick, ropy cum all over Patrick’s hand and the bedspread. The smaller man dropped soft kisses along Jonny’s shoulder blades and spine as they both recovered from their intense orgasms. Jonny hissed when Patrick pulled out and collapsed beside him on the bed. They lay still for several moments, catching their breaths and coming down from their mutual sexual highs. Jonny winced when he did try to move, shifting onto his side to wrap himself around Patrick.

 

“Wait a minute, Jonny, I gotta….” Patrick held him off with a palm to his chest, gesturing to his cum-covered hand and now-soft penis still wrapped in the condom. He scampered off to the bathroom to throw the condom in the trash and wash his hands before returning to Jonny and his big warm bed. The taller man laid back against his pillow and gathered Patrick against him, tangling their legs together and wrapping one arm around his lover’s back while the other unconsciously stroked through his soft, sweaty blonde curls.

 

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Jonny,” Patrick murmured after another short silence. If Jonny was choosy with his words on the ice and in the locker room, he was being downright picky now. Not that Patrick was not used to the silence, but they had just crossed a monumental boundary in their relationship and he felt like that warranted some kind of verbal response. Despite their on-ice chemistry, he couldn’t read Jonny’s damn mind.

 

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jonny asked, his deep voice rumbling through his chest under Patrick’s cheek. “I’m fine, Patrick. I’m used to getting pucks to the shins at 90 miles an hour. I think I can handle your cock in my ass, which, by the way, I really liked.”

 

Patrick grinned and turned his face enough to kiss the crevice between Jonny’s muscular pecs then reached up with one hand to caress Jonny’s nipple, “Me too. I can’t believe that I was your first.”

 

“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, _mon cher_ ,” Jonny tugged on Patrick’s curls. “You were good because I have nothing to compare to.”

 

Patrick chuckled low in his throat and moved closer against Jonny. He was already half-draped across him, but it still wasn’t enough. It was terrifying to desire someone so much he felt it in his marrow. That even post-sex Patrick still felt like he was not close enough. Physically, yes, they were as intimate as two people could be, but there was still a distance Patrick was unable to cross to get where he truly wanted to be with Jonny. He also had the sinking feeling that Jonny was the one who would have to pull him across – like he needed Jonny’s permission to get to that most emotionally intimate part of him. He wondered if anyone was allowed to access that part of Jonny’s psyche.

 

“Naw, I’m just good,” Patrick replied and relished the snorting chuckle shaking Jonny’s chest against the side of his face. Was it stupid and immature of him to want this forever? Were they boyfriends right now? Were they dating? Patrick would answer yes to his own questions in a heartbeat, but it was not solely up to him and he did not want to ruin the blissful mood.

 

“So what about you, Patrick? I can’t believe we’ve been friends this long and I don’t even know when you lost your virginity.”

 

Patrick tensed and raised himself up onto his elbows to gauge the expression on his lover’s face. Those dark brown eyes – sometimes laser-focused and other times playful – were drowsy and soft, staring down at Patrick with that same fond expression he had after Patrick’s game-winning goal for the Stanley Cup. Jonny’s hand dropped from Patrick’s hair to his hand on his chest, pressing their palms together and entwining their fingers. Jonny’s hand was only slightly larger than Patrick’s; strong and calloused from years of stick-handling and slap shots. He brought Jonny’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then met Jonny’s now-confused gaze.

 

“Are you sure you want to talk about this now? You have to promise you won’t get upset.”

 

“Why would I, Patrick? What, did you—,”

 

“Just promise!”

 

“I promise. Jeez.”

 

Patrick paused to study Jonny’s beautiful face then exhaled, “I lost my virginity at 14.”

 

“What?!”

 

“You promised not to be mad! And keep it down, you’re gonna wake up your guests.”

 

Jonny looked properly chagrined and lowered his voice to a more appropriate level, “I’m not, I’m not. Just….surprised. Damn, Patrick, I was still a baby at 14, only interested in hockey and passing high school.”

 

“Yeah, well, I should’ve been. I knew I liked boys, that was no question, and my sisters and parents knew as well, but it was still like, you know, socially unacceptable or whatever. Especially for a kid who played hockey. Anyway, my mom and dad let me go to Michigan to play junior hockey, and I was lost and lonely. I was this runt kid on one of the best amateur hockey teams in the nation, trying to earn ice time and prove I was good enough to make it to the NHL. We had a semi-final game in Illinois that first season and I played, like, maybe five minutes the whole game. It was terrible. I couldn’t keep the puck on my stick for shit, but this older kid from the rival team came up to me in the handshake line and praised my speed and said I had natural talent. He said all the right things, you know, and I was a stupid, lonely, impressionable kid being given attention by this seventeen-year-old awesome hockey player. Anyway, we met up at the after-party and fucked in his car and I never heard from him again.”

 

“Shit,” Jonny smoothed his free palm down the American’s red cheeks. “Sorry, Patrick. That’s harsh.”

 

“It was probably for the best because here I am with you,” Patrick settled his head back down on Jonny’s chest and reached up to trace his index finger along the cut of his lover’s jaw and chin. “What about you? How could such a devastatingly gorgeous guy like you still be a virgin at 22?”

 

Jonny blushed at the compliment and smirked when Patrick’s finger moved along the scar in his cheek from his rookie year when his face got in the way of a wild puck, “I was focused on hockey.” Jonny shrugged and sifted his hand through Patrick’s hair again. “I didn’t know if I was interested in girls or not. I knew I _should_ be – I mean, you know, that’s what usually happens – but I didn’t really have any interest in them. And all the guys I knew were as hockey-driven as me. I did have a pretty major boy-crush on Joe Sakic, but what wannabe hockey player didn’t?”

 

Patrick outright laughed at that admission, imagining little Jonny giving his adoring eyes to the Sakic poster on his bedroom wall. Maybe he kissed it every night for good luck because, despite what he tells the media, Jonny has superstitions too.

 

“Hey man, don’t act like you weren’t head-over-heels for Dominik Hasek when you were a kid.”

 

“Let’s be honest, Toews, I still am,” Patrick grinned up at Jonny’s frown-wrinkled face and smoothed his thumb over the crease between his captain’s brow. “But I like you more. Besides, he’s too old for me….and married.”

 

Jonny’s frown became a small smile and he trailed his hands lazily up and down Patrick’s back before settling one large palm at the nape of his lover’s neck while the other continued to move over his sweat-cooled skin, “Lucky for me, eh?”

 

“So when did you know?” Patrick inquired.

 

“That I liked you? I’m still not sure.”

 

Patrick rolled his eyes, “That you were gay, asshole.”

 

“Oh, right,” Jonny’s smirk became a teasing grin, stretching the scar on his top lip and causing Patrick’s insides to flip with arousal. If he were a hormone-crazed teenager again he would already be hard for Jonny and ready for round two. “Honestly – and you can never hold this against me or I will kick your ass – it was you, Patrick. When we met for the first time at the Junior World championship. Well, actually before that, I saw you with your team in passing at the hotel and thought who is this tiny, cocky kid who think he can play hockey? I actually thought you were the waterboy at first because you were so small. It was cute. But then we watched film of the team’s best season games and your tore it up. I wanted to know who the small kid with lightning speed and fast hands was, and then I wanted to shut him down. That whole game I watched you play when I wasn’t against you on the ice, and I was intrigued. Then we met in the handshake line, and you smiled at me and I was gone. I wanted to know you, to play hockey with you….and here we are.”

 

“Here we are,” Patrick agreed, not sure he would ever stop smiling after that story. He crawled up Jonny’s body to kiss him, lips meeting so tenderly he wanted to cry or shout from the top of the United Center just how in love he was. Jonny speared his tongue into Patrick’s honeyed mouth, a satisfied moan escaping his throat as he explored and opened up for the blonde to return the favor. Patrick nibbled Jonny’s full bottom lip and suckled at his invading tongue, earning himself another keening moan wretched from the brunette’s throat. His cock began to stir again.

 

He twitched when Jonny’s big, strong hand wrapped around his flaccid flesh and immediately began to stroke up and down with the same self-assuredness befitting the captain of a championship hockey team. Now Patrick was letting out broken whines and moans as Jonny’s warm hand worked him to a full erection. He reached down between their bodies to do the same, grasping Jonny’s cock with one hand and threading the fingers of his other hand through Jonny’s soft, wavy hair to hold his head in place as their mouths devoured each other. They hand-fucked the other to another orgasm, but this time it was unhurried and tender, the desperation from before replaced by satiated desire to give and seek pleasure in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEEESSSSSS!!!!! :)
> 
> French translations (please tell me if these are wrong and I will correct them):  
> "Putain! Touchez moi, Patrick!” - Fuck! Touch me, Patrick!
> 
> "Tu me rends fou, Patrick! Prends moi, mon cheri!....s’il vous plait." - You drive me crazy, Patrick! Take me, darling....please."
> 
> "Oui" - Yes
> 
> "Je ne veux pas attendre. Je veux que vous, mon coeur. Je suis pret pour toi." - I do not want to wait. I want you, my heart. I'm ready for you."
> 
> "Patrick, s’il vous plait....juste me baiser. Je besoin de vous si mal, mon cheri.” - Patrick, please....just fuck me. I need you so bad, my darling.
> 
> "Oohh, dieu, Patrick!" - Oohh, god, Patrick!
> 
> "Mon cher" - my dear


	10. I feel strange and unprotected, but I'm weightless like I'm falling on the moon....

The sun was already high in the sky, shining across their naked bodies the next morning and rudely awakening Jonny from his deep slumber. He squinted against the harsh brightness as his eyes adjusted then looked down at the man whose back was curled against his chest. The light hitting his messy blonde curls on the pillow created a halo effect, his long lashes fanned across his cheeks making him ethereal. Patrick looked so innocent in sleep, his features relaxed and the fetal position he was curled in made him appear even smaller. But Jonny remembered the night before. His little winger was anything _but_ innocent. _Shit! Last night._ How was he going to explain this to his brother, his parents, teammates, the media? And Patrick was certain to want to talk out all the fucking feelings.

 

“Relax, Jonny,” came Patrick’s sleep-roughened voice, muffled by the pillow, “you’re worrying too much. I know you’re dissecting last night. Just let it be for now.” Patrick rolled onto his back so Jonny’s morning wood pressed into his hip and he felt the other man’s body become slightly less tense.

 

“I can’t help it, Patrick,” Jonny pushed the rogue curls off his lover’s forehead and just stared down at the naked, sheet-covered beauty that was Patrick Kane.

 

“Yes, you can. Kiss me,” Patrick pulled Jonny in by the neck to greet him with a languid capturing of lips, brief and sweet. “Mmm, good morning.”

 

“Mornin’,” Jonny mumbled and ducked his head as if he was suddenly shy. “Sorry, I—I don’t regret last night, I just have—,”

 

“You just think too much,” Patrick caressed the pad of his thumb across Jonny’s lips, rubbing over the white scar piercing his upper lip where he caught a stick to the face in a game against Detroit last season. The hit had sent him sprawling to the ice, and Patrick remembered the helpless fear that had settled in his throat and stomach as he watched the team medic attending to him on the ice then going through the concussion protocol once they were back at the bench. Patrick hated that scar. Not because it marred Jonny’s pretty face, but because it reminded him that they were not invincible. He was not always to be able to protect the people he cared about.

 

Jonny softened and reached up to wrap his fingers around Patrick’s wrist and kiss his palm. Patrick swallowed and licked his lips at the pure adoration with which Jonny’s dark eyes were looking at him. Then his eyes widened in an expression of horror, “Do you think anyone heard us last night? Shit.”

 

“Oh I’m sure they did. We weren’t exactly quiet,” Patrick grinned. Both men broke into a fit of giggles at their own ridiculousness and embarrassment.

 

Of course Crow, Seabs and David were all awake when Patrick and Jonny walked into the kitchen a few minutes later dressed in clean boxers and yesterday’s T-shirts; the summer version of the walk of shame. Patrick grinned at the six eyes watching them enter the room together and he immediately went to sit next to David at the island like he hadn’t just fucked David’s big brother mere hours earlier. Or maybe like he had and didn’t care who knew or what they thought. Jonny, on the other hand, refused to meet their gazes and busied himself with finding fruit and milk for a smoothie, opening cabinets and drawers so as not to have to face his friends and brother.

 

Brent was standing at the stove making enough scrambled eggs to feed a whole team but were probably only for himself and Corey, who was watching from his perch on the spacious counter, coffee mug in hand. After several moments of what Jonny considered to be awkward silence, Corey finally opened his big mouth, “So are we gonna talk about what happened last night or just pretend we didn’t fucking hear a thing?”

 

Patrick grinned wide and was almost bouncing out of his seat as he proclaimed, “I fucked him.” Jonny whirled around to glare, but the rest let out whoops and hollers of “congratulations!” and “finally!”. Patrick laughed and basked in the attention; grateful he no longer had to hide or fake his feelings around these friends. Judging by the grin overtaking his face – that he was trying so hard to hide – and the way his eyes met Patrick’s amidst the excitement of their friends, Jonny was thinking the same.

 

Brent dished out eggs to David and Patrick then piled a third plate high, added salt and pepper, grabbed two forks and sat beside his boyfriend on the counter. Jonny blended a smoothie and took an orange from the fruit bowl on his kitchen table before going to sit in the empty stool beside Patrick.

 

“Does this mean no more knock down-drag out fights? I mean, now that the sexual tension has been resolved?” Brent sent a lascivious glance to Corey, who just chuckled and continued shoveling eggs into his mouth.

 

“Oh I’m sure Captain Serious over here will still get on my nerves,” Patrick answered around bites of egg.

 

“Or more accurately Mr. Soft Hands will find even more ways to piss me off now,” Jonny retorted, knocking his shoulder into the man next to him.

 

“Isn’t he a delight?” Patrick teased as he stood to get coffee, playfully pinching Jonny’s side on the way to the half-full coffee pot near the stove. Corey pressed into Brent’s side as they polished off their oversized plate of eggs, sharing sips from the same coffee mug. David was already finished and took his empty dishes to the sink.

 

“Blech! You guys are making me sick!” he grumbled, running the water to rinse off any grease and egg residue before placing his plate on the bottom rack of the dishwasher.

 

“Hey, how come your girlfriend didn’t come with you?” Brent asked around his last mouthful of eggs.

 

“She couldn’t get the time off work. Plus, she has to be at school a week early to start her student teaching,” David answered, refilling his coffee mug and going to lean against the counter beside his brother. The friends launched into a conversation about David’s sports medicine major and predictions about his upcoming college hockey season, but Jonny remained quiet, sipping his strawberry-wheat grass smoothie. There were things he and Patrick needed to discuss – big, life-altering decisions they needed to work through and figure out. Were they boyfriends now or was this just a casual thing? Was Patrick even capable of being in a steady, adult relationship, and what about their lives in the spotlight?

 

He knew Patrick would not be comfortable keeping them a secret because he would want the stupid, cliché things couples do like going out for dinner and taking walks along the lake holding hands. All of which require being in public where everyone can see and judge. And God knows how the media would spin it if they got wind that the two most recognized hockey players in Chicago were 100 percent gay for each other. It would be a distraction from the game – his job – and completely unfair to the team.

 

Then there was the matter of his own emotions. Did he really love his scoundrel of a right winger, or did he just get caught up in a romantic moment last night? He always thought it would be crystal clear when he fell in love; yes, absolutely, this is the person he was supposed to grow old with. There would be no doubt, no worry about ruining his career and reputation because love was stronger than all of that. As he was fast learning, life did not work that way. There was so much gray area to wade through he felt like he might drown in it.

 

Patrick wanted to jump in with both feet and splash around a little. He was downright giddy after the events of last night and could not wait to do it again. Actually, he wished the other three guys would just leave so he could have Jonny all to himself. They could spend the day – or days – in bed making love and discovering each other as lovers instead of just friends. Then they could take the boat out to the middle of the lake and just be; maybe make out in between bouts of swimming and – or make love on the beach. He had never done that before and the thought of naked Jonny, wet from a recent swim, pressing him down into the sand, was intriguing and….arousing. Yeah, the boxers he was wearing were useless to hide _that_ , and he knew he would never hear the end of it in the locker room if he popped a boner in Jonny’s kitchen in front of these idiots.

 

He quickly gathered his breakfast dishes and set them in the sink then made a hasty retreat back upstairs to the guest bedroom. His clothes were still folded in the suitcase from the day before as he had been too….distracted to bother unpacking. Patrick pulled a clean pair of boxers and basketball shorts from the suitcase then dug through the dress shirts and polos for his favorite, well-worn Chicago Bulls T-shirt with Michael Jordan’s name and number on the back. He didn’t know why he even brought so many nicer shirts. It’s not like Jonny, Brent or Corey ever dressed up if they did not have to, and as far as Patrick knew he was probably going to spend the next week on Jonny’s boat….or in his bed. And neither of those things required a button-down, or much clothes at all. Oh well. There would be less laundry and packing for him to do when they had to go back to Chicago for training camp in a few weeks.

 

Patrick was washing the shampoo out of his hair when the shower curtain whipped back, the metal hooks clanging against the shower rod causing him to jump and open his eyes in the direction of the intruder. A smirking Jonny stood before him, half-hard and unashamed, his hair sticking up in every direction, and his languid brown eyes swept up and down Patrick’s naked form. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips as if he enjoyed what he saw before he barged, uninvited, into Patrick’s shower space and pushed him back against the wet tile of the wall, mouth descending to attack the other man’s in a fervent kiss. Patrick squeaked in surprise as Jonny took the lead; tongues rubbing together, hands squeezing his ass, roaming up to his hips and waist then back down to his thighs and ass again. Sighing, he relaxed under the bigger man’s weight pressing into his body and let him do the work so he could just slot his leg between Jonny’s and respond to the eager kiss.

 

“Why did you just disappear?” Jonny pulled back, frowning down at the drenched man under his hands. “I had to fend for myself against the nosy wolf pack.”

 

“Aw, poor Jonny,” Patrick mock pouted and tapped Jonny’s nose. “Are the scary goalie and big bad defenders being mean?”

 

“They ask too many questions. It’s like a fucking TV interview with those three,” Jonny’s large hand settled at the back of Patrick’s neck, fingers brushing into his hair. The pressure of that palm against his skin felt so delicious he shivered despite the warm water spraying over them.

 

“Except they actually care,” Patrick responded, tilting his chin up to look into his lover’s brown eyes and wishing they could stay like this all the time. He placed a hand on Jonny’s chest and leaned up on his tiptoes to trail small kisses from the corner of Jonny’s mouth down the scarred side of his tanned, handsome face.

 

“Yeah,” Jonny agreed on a sigh. “Here. Let me.” He turned Patrick’s shoulders and prodded him back under the shower spray, fingers delving into his fine, wet curls and gently scratching at his scalp to rinse out all the shampoo. Every so often, Jonny dropped a brief kiss on Patrick’s sun-freckled shoulders as he worked his fingertips through his hair. When he was finished he pressed his body against the shorter man’s back and put his palm on Patrick’s neck, using his fingers to turn his cheek to the side so he could lean down and capture his lips again. This time they kept their tongues in their mouths and allowed their lips to collide and brush together in a gentle kiss under the water falling over their bodies. Jonny’s other hand trailed down Patrick’s defined abs and through the strip of soft hair on his lower belly that lead down to the treasure between his thighs. Patrick purred low in his throat when Jonny wrapped his hand tight around the velvet flesh and stroked. There was no mistaking the fleshy rod pushing into his back, but they both knew they were on borrowed time. Jonny’s guests were probably already suspicious. They had plans that needed to be kept.

 

Patrick turned around in Jonny’s arms, cock sliding out of his grip, and pushed at his chest to put a few inches between them, “Okay, big guy, as much as I love shower sex, you have guests to get back to.”

 

“They’re fine. They can entertain themselves, eh?” Jonny reached out for Patrick again, but he held him off and shook his head, the corner of his lips pulled up in a wry grin. “Fine. But this is not me letting you boss me around. I’m just being logical.”

 

“Of course you are, Jonny,” Patrick reached down for his shampoo bottle on the shelf and squeezed some out into his hands, never breaking eye contact with his lover. He rubbed his palms together to evenly distribute the shampoo then pulled the taller man’s head down and lathered the sudsy liquid through his hair. They washed each other with Patrick’s woodsy-scented shower gel. After several more distractions by each other’s lips, Jonny was skeptical about how clean they actually were, but the plan was to be in the lake most of the day anyway.

 

Patrick stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, water from his hair dripping onto the tile in small puddles as he reached for the extra towel on the rack above the toilet. Jonny stepped out onto the fuzzy crimson bath mat as Patrick tossed the towel around his shoulders like a cape, pulling him in to place a peck on his cheek with a grin then releasing so they could both dry off. As Patrick dressed in the clothes he had brought into the bathroom, Jonny pulled on the same pair of boxers he had been wearing earlier that morning and Patrick could not help but to admire his ass. For as much as Jonny worked out and obsessed over healthy eating, his backside stuck out there like a fleshy beach ball on the rippling waves of his otherwise toned body. When he walked, Patrick could almost see the muscles moving; thighs thick as cedars churning lean hips and that ass flexing with every long stride, his broad chest and wide shoulders strong enough to hold up a hockey team. He did not even know devastatingly attractive he was, or the havoc it wrecked on Patrick’s insides every time he casually went about his business shirtless.

 

“Jeez, took ya long enough,” Crow accused when Patrick and Jonny went downstairs after they were both fully clothed.

 

“We were beginning to think maybe Jonny had drowned Kaner or something,” David piled on, glancing up from the sports magazine he was reading.

 

“That’s the G-rated version of what we were thinking,” Seabs supplied. Like he had room to talk all curled up into Corey on the couch, the two huge men so close they only took up one cushion. Corey had one arm slung around his boyfriend’s body, keeping him against his side, and his other hand rested on Brent’s legs which were dangling over his left thigh.

 

“Dude, that’s my brother,” David shot a disgusted look at Brent and, by default, Corey, who just dismissed him with a hand wave.

 

“Oh don’t act all innocent. You do it with your girl. Apparently, Tazer does it with Kaner and I do it with this handsome guy here,” Corey squeezed Brent’s knee and they shared a knowing grin. “Now that we know about the birds and bees can we do something fun?”

 

“Please,” Jonny dead panned. “Anything to make you all stop talking about my sex life, eh?” Patrick smiled and squeezed Jonny’s ass because it was there and he couldn’t help himself, winking when that intense glare was directed at him. But he watched his captain’s squinted eyes soften and open as he looked down at him, like those looks the TV cameras sometimes caught during a celly or after a smart play; those fond eyes the media wrote off as a captain admiring his winger’s skill. And Jonny may be doing just that, but Patrick also knew he did not give those glances to Hossa or Brouwer.

 

“Hey, man, come help me pack the beer,” Brent made eye contact with Jonny and jerked his head toward the garage door.

 

“Yep, we’re on food duty,” Corey clapped his boyfriend on the knee, pushing himself up from the couch and herding Patrick into the kitchen. David went to take a shower while Brent and Jonny headed out to the garage.

 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Brent questioned immediately, leaning back against the closed garage storm door.

 

“What? I thought we came out here for the beer,” Jonny’s eyebrow quirked up as he looked at his friend, confused.

 

“Yeah, we’ll get to that, but first we need to talk about you and Kaner.”

 

“What’s to talk about?” Jonny shrugged, turning away to dig through the refrigerator for stray cans and bottles of beer but also to just find something to do with his hands.

 

“Are you prepared for the media circus and potential homophobia that will be coming your way once they get wind of your relationship with Kaner? Do you _have_ a relationship with Kaner? Are you ready for the _responsibility_ of a relationship with Kaner?”

 

“Okay, stop saying relationship and Kaner.”

 

“Come on, JT, as much as we like to fool ourselves, we’re not normal people. The things we do are scrutinized and criticized by the whole world, it seems. You can’t be blasé about this. Also, you need to think of Patrick’s feelings….because he has a lot of them. He’s had a crush on you for years, man, and if you fuck this up you will absolutely crush him,” Brent found the cooler they had used on the boat last night and set it near Jonny’s feet. The captain whirled on him though, eyes narrowed and lips set in a thin line, his face almost angry.

 

“No one has thought about the consequences more than me, Seabs. Believe me, I am _very_ well aware of the shit the media likes to spew, but why does the weight of the world fall on _me?_ Why am I responsible for myself _and_ Patrick? He’s a big boy, can’t he take care of himself?! And isn’t this a little hypocritical coming from you, man? Like, what the hell, you and Crow have been dating for years and no one knew.”

 

“Corey and I are not the captain of a Stanley Cup winning hockey team, or its star right winger. To be honest, though, I’m not as concerned about the potential backlash as I am about Patrick. He can’t be casual in relationships. He’s either in or out, and if there’s sex involved you know his heart is all in. Man, I’m not trying to put it all on you, but I know you. Don’t fuck him up. Be honest and use your words to tell him how you feel.”

 

“So, like, am I supposed to make some big gesture, or tell him I love him? He’ll see right through that, and I’m not going to lie to him,” Jonny began stacking the cans of beer inside the cooler.

 

“You don’t love him?” Brent nailed Jonny with those hazel-grey eyes, almost as intense and shark-like as the captain’s own famous stare.

 

Jonny shrugged, not able to meet his friend’s gaze, “I’m not sure yet. I know I like him, and he likes me. We’re good together on the ice, and best friends off, but who’s to say this is love?”

 

Brent sighed, pushing his wavy “summer” hair, as Corey called it, back from his face, “Just don’t fuck him up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these updates are slow. Thanks so much for reading. Please please please leave comments! Your words motivate my writing, so please comment. Thank you!


	11. Did you know I'd run all day just to maybe hear you say that you are falling too....

Corey and Patrick packed their sub sandwiches on top of the beer in the cooler, and the five friends grabbed their beach towels and swim trunks for another perfect day on the lake. Jonny navigated the boat fifteen miles up the coast to a secluded beach surrounded by aspens and willow trees. White sand spread between two cliffs jutting into the lake, creating a barrier between the beach and the homes on the hill. The water was choppy here, buffeting the boat as Jonny gently grounded it on the sand bar since there was no dock to which it could be tethered. Julia hopped over the side of the boat and immediately began sniffing around the sand for a place to mark her territory.

 

Clear blue water rolled out to the horizon without another boat or swimmer in sight, and Patrick realized they must be in the widest part of the lake, which also happened to be the coldest because it was so far north. He was not complaining, though. The scenery was gorgeous and the isolation was actually kind of perfect; peaceful without the hum of motors and cacophony of human sounds breaking the still air. There was only the ebb and flow of the tide, water splashing against itself accompanied by the occasional shrieking call of the seagulls flying overhead. Now Patrick really wished he and Jonny were alone to try out the whole sex-on-a-beach thing. He glanced over at the tall Canadian bending over to heft the full cooler then carrying it onto the beach, his ass and thighs working overtime and his biceps bulging out tight t-shirt sleeves. _Yep. When the other guys leave we definitely need to make a trip back here._

 

He looked over to see Brent and Corey sneaking a brief, yet sweet kiss on the lips as they bent down at the same time to grab towels and the Frisbee they brought. Brent chuckled low in his throat and smiled, causing his boyfriend to do the same. They scampered off the boat together, bumping shoulders and brushing sides as they wandered up the beach to where Jonny and David had already set their things down. He didn’t know what else they needed, so Patrick draped his towel over his shoulders and grabbed the volleyball Jonny kept on hand just in case, then went to join his friends.

 

“Jonny, this place is amazing!” Patrick called out happily as he walked to stand next to his lover. “It’s like our own little corner of the universe. We should come back here by ourselves, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Jonny, gently elbowing his side. Brent, Corey and David groaned and rolled their eyes as his not-so-subtle innuendo.

 

“Hmm, maybe,” Jonny shrugged, kicking at the sand to avoid looking at the smaller man before fully turning his back to go to the edge of the beach where the water and sand meet. He threw Julia’s tennis ball out into the lake, and the big dog scrambled, full speed, to catch the ball before it hit the water. Patrick watched, his chest tightening and face turning down. He shivered despite the warm air temperature, and he knew he was unable to hide his emotions when he saw pity in Brent and Corey’s eyes. As if they wanted to say something to help but were unsure that it would actually be encouraging right now. Patrick offered a half-smile and shrugged, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets and kicking at the sand with his bare toes, as if to let them know this was normal Jonny behavior; he was used to Jonny’s odd mood swings.

 

“The fuck,” David muttered, tromping through the sand to his brother. “Hey! What the fuck’s wrong with you?” He smacked Jonny’s shoulder hard with the back of his hand, but he tried to keep his voice down so Patrick would not hear what he was about to say.

 

“Fuck! What?” Jonny rubbed his shoulder, glaring at David. Julia returned with her tennis ball and dropped it in the sand at her owner’s feet. He promptly picked it up and threw it out again as Julia raced off into the choppy water.

 

“Are you ignoring him?” David questioned, unblinking.

 

“No!” Jonny protested, but he refused to look his brother in the face.

 

“Come on, man, you can’t do this to him. You were weird at breakfast and you didn’t talk to him the whole boat ride up here. Now you’re playing fetch with your dog and he’s over there probably wondering why you’ll sleep with him but then ignore him the next day. I know you have the emotional maturity of a toddler, but he’s sensitive regardless of what he may say to the contrary. Jonny, he has been so far gone for you since his rookie year, and I know you don’t realize what you do to him with your casual touching and hockey cellies because that’s just who you are. But he’s still your best friend. Just because there is physical intimacy in your relationship now does not mean you get to be a dick because you’re embarrassed or afraid of being found out or whatever the hell is going through your dumb head. You have to talk to him. You have to still be his friend and teammate and captain.”

 

Jonny sighed and cast a sidelong glance at his younger brother before throwing the ball for Julia again, “I don’t _know_ what I’m feeling, man. I mean, yeah, last night was great and he was sweet or whatever, but why does it have to be a big deal? It’s not like he’s known for having healthy relationships. Being, you know, boyfriends or whatever would mean his drama and issues become mine. I have enough of my own shit to deal with. I don’t need his public displays of crazy, too. And the whole fucking media storm that being a gay, outed hockey player will bring is just too much. It’s too much pressure. I already feel like I’m drowning.”

 

“Shit, Jonny, do you hear yourself? You don’t have to take this all on your own. That is what being in a relationship means. You carry each other and deal with difficult things together. You don’t _have_ to go through life alone, man. Let people help you. And I don’t know why, but that tiny guy back there wants to take on your burdens. He would do _anything_ for you just because it’s you. But if you don’t feel the same then you need to be fair to him and tell him. Both of you deserve better,” David walked away to let Jonny mull over his words for a minute.

 

Patrick, Seabs and Crow were playing one-on-one tackle with the Frisbee, laughing and chirping about the right winger’s obvious disadvantage against the solid, six-foot-two goalie and even larger defenseman. When Patrick ended up flat on his back in the sand after running smack into the wall of Corey’s body, he guffawed and hugged the plastic disc to his chest as Crow rolled off him, laughing just as hard.

 

“You’re like a fucking featherweight, man,” Corey managed between laughs. “I bet you tip over in a strong wind.”

 

“At least I don’t match pace with a sloth,” Patrick flicked sand at his friend. Seabs jogged over, pulling his boyfriend back to his feet, and Corey shook the sand from his thick, dark hair.

 

“I tackled you.”

 

Patrick let his middle finger do the talking but still clutched the Frisbee as he picked himself up out of the sand, brushing off the backside of his shorts. The laughter died in his throat when he looked over at Jonny standing in the shallow tide, ruffling his dog’s fur and smiling down at her as he pulled the tennis ball from her mouth. His back was turned to everyone else. To Patrick, it seemed like a defense mechanism. Not that he expected Jonny to suddenly want to talk about his emotions and pull him out of the sand like a boyfriend would. They slept together once. Patrick had been fucking a guy for six months without calling themselves “boyfriends.” He could do the casual thing. In fact, he was the king of keeping it chill and uncomplicated, but no one had ever mauled him in the shower only to completely ignore him an hour later. And none of them had ever been Jonny.

 

David joined their game to make even teams for Ultimate Frisbee: the Beach Edition – Patrick and David against Brent and Corey – while Jonny kept his distance, preferring to give attention to his dog rather than his friends. Every so often, Patrick would glance over to check if maybe he was watching their game at the very least, but he had his back turned every time. Brent scored on David, resulting in an exuberant celebration from the boyfriends. Patrick thought maybe that would catch Jonny’s attention, but he realized he was the one staring when the flying disc hit him in the chest and David shouted, “Earth to Kaner!” from across their makeshift sand field. Shaking his head and shoulders, Patrick scolded himself to keep his head in the game and let Jonny be alone to figure out his thoughts or whatever he needed to do. Even if it felt like every unreturned glance made his heart sink so low behind his ribcage it may as well be in his stomach, Patrick would wait for Jonny. He didn’t have a choice because not having Jonny sounded like a fate worse than death.

 

The summer sun was hot and high in the sky when Brent suggested they call the game for a food and beer break. David and Patrick teased him about wanting to quit while his team was ahead.

 

“Dream on, blondie, we smoked your asses so well you could serve ‘em on a sandwich,” Corey fired back, taking his boyfriend’s hand as they wandered over to the cooler. Jonny trudged up through the sand with Julia at his heels, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted for water. Patrick spread his towel on the sand and sat down before grabbing the dog’s bowl and a water bottle.

 

“Come here, girl,” Patrick whistled, pouring the cool liquid into her bowl. Julia bounded over to him, tail wagging, and licked his hand in gratitude before shoving her face into the bowl to lap up the water as if she had been dehydrated for a week. Patrick looked up at Jonny, who was standing silent at the fringe of their circle. Brent and Corey shared a towel to his left and to his right David was stretched out, already chowing down on his cold cut. Patrick offered a thin-lipped smile to the stoic man across his field of vision; who only hours before seemed to be one crucial question away from being his boyfriend. Now the mere feet between them might as well be light years for all he could read on Jonny’s face. “Here ya go, man.” Patrick tossed the last sub sandwich to Jonny and smiled again even as his heart seemed to be chipping apart with uncertainty.

 

“Thanks,” Jonny’s mouth quirked up in one corner, but those dark eyes remained focused on his dog….or anything that wasn’t Patrick’s face. As Julia settled her big body onto his pretzeled legs, Patrick patted the empty space on the towel beside him and opened his mouth to offer the spot to Jonny. But he was already lowering himself down next to his brother. Corey and Brent shot quick glances at Patrick, silently asking if he was all right. He shrugged, appreciating their concern, but he really did not want any of them witnessing his lower lip and chin trembling so he focused on eating his sub and playing keep away with the sixty-pound dog draped over his lap.

 

The five men talked about hockey and the salary cap that the Blackhawks were up against as a result of winning the Stanley Cup. Once the new season began, they would be without a quarter of their team; Big Buff, Soupy, Niemi, Fraser, Versteeg and Ladd were already gone to clear salary space for several young forwards and higher round draft picks. Many of the veterans, including Patrick, Jonny and Brent, received raises but it felt more like a punishment when the team was losing so many key players after playing their best season in 49 years. Corey would also have his chance to start in net for the upcoming season despite the huge contract the suits sighed for top-ranking goaltender Ray Emery. He has been dominating in the league for the past seven years, known for instigating fights and keeping pucks out of the net. If he could stay out of legal trouble off the ice, there was no doubt Emery would be headed for the hall of fame soon after retirement. Corey was excited to learn from him and pick up some techniques to improve his glove hand, no question his weakest side.

 

Jonny watched Patrick tear off the edges of the meat sticking out of the bread and feed them to Julia. The greedy dog lunged at his hand for the treat. She swallowed it down without chewing then was back up in Patrick’s space, licking his hands and face, begging for more. He laughed, holding her off with a strong arm around her neck as he finished the sandwich then let the exuberant dog push him onto his back in the sand. Patrick ruffled the short brown fur of her neck and talked to her like the baby she is. Jonny was glad Julia had taken such a liking to Patrick almost immediately, and vice versa.

 

He had rescued her almost two years ago through Bryan Bickell’s pit bull rescue organization. She was only a year old at the time, still a pup, but she had been born into a dog-fighting litter; abused and neglected before the cops busted up the illegal dog-fighting ring. Bryan and Amanda had offered to take the pups and rehabilitate them instead of sending them to a shelter where their psychological needs would not be taken care of. Shelters were like a death sentence to dogs bred for meanness, and Julia was no exception when the Bickells took her in, along with her three brothers. She was skittish, growled and barked at anything that moved or came near her face, snapped her teeth at her brothers when they were all trying to eat, and she did not trust people, especially men. There is an indented scar around her snout from being muzzled incorrectly for most, if not all, of the first year of her life, and after a day of strenuous activity she walks with a limp, dragging her back legs and putting all her weight on her front two legs. An indication she spent a lot of time in a cage that was too small for her.

 

When Bryan asked Jonny and several other teammates to participate in some PR for the company in the fall of that year, Julia had only been with them for three months but she had gravitated to Jonny as soon as he walked through the door of the Bickell’s home. She had pranced over to him and reared up on her haunches, placing her paws on his chest, sniffing at him just to make sure he was trustworthy. She had snarled and kept her distance from the other guys. Maybe she had felt a kinship with him; two lonely souls looking for comfort and connection, a sense of belonging. Jonny had not planned to adopt a dog that day, but he had been unable to say goodbye at the end of the photo shoot. She was not perfect, but she was his and he always missed her like hell when the hockey season began again.

 

This affection toward Patrick though, that was new. Julia had learned to tolerate other people that were not Jonny, but she usually went off to a quiet place of the house when friends or family came over. Or she stuck by her owner’s side like a shy child hugs her Maman’s legs. Maybe she sensed Patrick was a sucker for a pretty face and light begging, or maybe she knew something Jonny could not bring himself to admit; that bright-eyed smile and full-bodied laugh was his pure soul put on display. Patrick was not without fault, sure, and he knew his heart had been toyed with and used a few times. Underneath all that emotional scarring protected by reckless behavior and apathy was a good guy – a sweet guy – who deserved unconditional love; someone capable and willing to get messy. David was right. Patrick needed someone who would never be ashamed of him despite the public displays of stupid that often overshadowed his hockey prowess, and Jonny could not offer him that.

 

As hard as he tried, Jonny would never be able to separate hockey, his reputation and his private life. It was all the same to him, intertwined into the root of who he was and how he was raised. Feelings and emotions – and even love – change, but others’ perception of him did not have to. He could rely on that as a constant in his busy world, something only he had control over. It did not matter what he may be feeling now toward Patrick – or even what he may have been feeling for the past couple years – because it could turn sour just as fast. No, he couldn’t – he wasn’t in _love_ with his winger because love was a choice and he was choosing sanity and his team over self-indulgent romantic pleasure. He was taking the logical, selfless path….right?

************

 

The time went by like any other typical lazy summer day for the five friends enjoying the last of their freedom before the grueling training and demands of a new hockey season controlled their lives again. The sun was high and hot in the sky. Brent and Corey were tossing the football back and forth in the gentle surf until Jonny took a running leap to tackle Brent into the waves. It was mayhem after that as all five of them wrestled for the football, body-slamming each other into the shallow water, playing keep away, throwing the ball as far as one guy could while the others tripped and chased each other to get to it first. Laughing, shouting, chirping, making competition merely for the sake of having a goal to achieve but without the pressure of coaches, media and fans criticizing and expecting too much. Julia raced and played around them, barking, jumping, wanting to be in the action too.

 

Patrick managed to muscle his way to the football, pulling down David and outrunning Corey, who slipped and crashed down into the waves much to the delight of a howling Brent. Julia scampered through the water, trailing Patrick, until out of nowhere he felt a hand on his ankle as he was grabbing the ball. He held on but was pulled under the water. Patrick came up sputtering, shoving wet curls out of his face. Julia jumped on him, eagerly trying to get to the ball as if he hadn’t just been blindsided. He heard Jonny’s delighted cackle. That sneaky fuck had waited, underwater, knowing where Patrick would be in order to trip him up for the sole purpose of seeing him fail. _Well, who had the football, Jonny?_

 

“You are going down, fucker!” Patrick threatened with a grin. He abandoned the football to charge at the taller but similarly soaked man.

 

“Come at me, baby!” Jonny chirped, arms spread wide as he stood in the surf bare-chested. His damn shorts clung to his ass and thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. The promise Jonny had made to himself earlier all but forgotten in the playfulness of the moment. He laughed and shouted with glee as he fought against the waves and sand to escape Patrick’s advance, but that little shit was quick! Or maybe Jonny was not trying too desperately because he wanted to feel that idiot against him again. He liked Patrick chasing him. But fuck if he would ever admit that detail to anyone.

 

The smaller, solid blonde crashed into him. Jonny shrieked as he was checked, flailing backward into the water, but he managed to grab Patrick and bring him down too. The American laughed as he landed on Jonny’s chest in the surf, pulled under the current before resurfacing. The laughing Canadian’s tanned arms remained around him until Patrick shoved him away, pushing him back under the waves playfully. But the sting of feeling rejected by him all day was too close to the surface. Patrick needed an explanation before he was willing to forgive and forget.

 

“Hey!” Jonny called to Patrick’s retreating back. Lake water dripped from the curls on his neck down his freckled back and his soaked swim trunks were bunched up mid-thigh. Jonny shook the water out of his ears, frowning when Patrick continued his trudge to the beach without so much as a glance back. Then Julia was on him, paws on his chest and licking water from his face, her butt wiggling happily. Man and dog wrestled and played in the water while Patrick made his way to shore and plopped down on his towel spread out beside Brent and Corey’s. David was walking on the sandbar near the boat, talking on his phone. Patrick spread out on his towel to dry off and, hopefully, retain some color in his pale complexion, as long as it wasn’t red by the end of the day. He had been faithfully applying sunscreen every hour. Judging from the sounds coming from Patrick’s left, Brent was asleep while Corey was reading a book he had brought along. He had one leg hooked over his dozing boyfriend’s calf.

 

“So how’s it going with you two?” Corey put the book down on his chest and craned his neck to look at Patrick, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

 

“I’m so confused,” Patrick shook his head. Corey remained quiet, knowing the blonde would expound on that statement once he figured out how to phrase it in his head. “How did it happen with you and Brent? You know, how did you know or decide to just fuck it all? Like, fuck what people say or think.”

 

Corey grinned, looking over at his sleeping boyfriend. He reached out and gently sifted his fingers through Brent’s long, thick hair, “I never believed in love at first sight until this guy sauntered into the locker room to play his first professional game. He was all quiet bravado and crazy hair and….I don’t know, there was something about him that intrigued me. It took us about a month to realize the other was gay, but we didn’t care about the media. At the time, the Blackhawks were barely worth mentioning in sports reports, and the guys on the team already knew Brent and I were gay. We were young and in love….maybe too naïve to think about the ramifications of the media finding out. To be honest, though, we didn’t think about it. We just wanted to be together."

 

Patrick sighed, “That’s my thinking. Like, who cares, we’re hockey players and we like boys, get over it. It’s 2010! I mean, if Jagr can fuck around with all the girls he wants, posting shit on Instagram, but I can’t be in a committed relationship because I want to date a guy. That’s fucked up. Love is love. Jonny, however, is very concerned about his public image and the opinions of others.”

 

“Compromise, man. You want to be with him, he wants to be with you but he has reservations? Do it on his terms. Keep it on the down-low for now until he is more comfortable, or until the fucking media is more tolerant. It’s worth it to be with the person you care about.”

 

“Yeah, well, it only works if it goes both ways.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Corey leveled the smaller man with a glare, keeping his hand in Brent’s hair. “That idiot is so gone for you, Peeks. It’s not going to be words that sell you out to the media, it will be our captain’s stupid face whenever he looks at you. It’s like being around teenagers with their first crush. God, both of you make me sick.”

 

Patrick grinned at the goaltender’s scoffing, his eyes drifting to David, Jonny and the dog frolicking in the waves. They laughed and played, splashing and dunking each other while the huge dog barked and jumped at their ankles. The scene looked like a Doublemint commercial or a Rockwell painting if he had done seascapes. Patrick didn’t think it was possible, but Jonny seemed even more gorgeous in this light. He was in his element on the ice, and Patrick would agree that this was Jonny’s element too. The Canadian had no fear when a particularly vicious wave took his feet right out from under him, rather he emerged from the water, soaked and laughing; his smile was real, his laughter never forced, and the lines in his face that seemed to be ever-present during the hockey season were completely gone. Besides that, he just looked so damn hot; ripped, wet, those damn shorts clinging to his round, impressive hockey ass and making Patrick hard inside his own swim trunks. _What the hell, though?! He sleeps with a guy then ignores him the next day?_

 

Had he been reading Jonny all wrong for the past three years? Maybe he _was_ just like all the others; willing to get in Patrick’s pants only to bail when the prospect of a relationship with him suddenly became too overwhelming. Or maybe Jonny thought he was in love but realized he was just horny, and he was well aware of how Patrick felt so he appeased him. _God_ , that thought was enough to just rip his heart from his chest! Actually, physically removing the beating organ would be less painful.

************

 

The sun was setting, casting the Canadian sky in deep shades of purple, orange, pink and red as the men and dog landed back at the dock in Jonny’s backyard. As they approached, though, Patrick saw fire and smoke rising from the beach. It sounded like….a party? In Jonny’s yard? Indeed, there was a huge bonfire roaring at the edge of the property, music came from a makeshift DJ booth on the deck, and there were men and women everywhere. Most of them were wearing college sweatshirts, so Patrick assumed these were David’s friends until two burly guys and a tall, leggy blonde greeted Jonny as he tied off the boat. Of course, these must be Jonny’s friends. Patrick forgot he and Jonny were also college-aged because they’ve had careers since they were nineteen.

 

David hopped from the boat and made a beeline for a group gathered near the fire while Brent grabbed Corey’s hand to find some beer. Jonny smiled and bro-hugged his guy friends before accepting a peck on the cheek from the girl. It appeared as though Patrick was the only one in the dark about this impromptu backyard bonfire. He glanced at Jonny, brow furrowed to convey _what the hell?_ Jonny just shrugged, smirking, and took the beer the tall brunette offered to him. Patrick glared at the girl draping herself all over _his_ boyfriend. Except he wasn’t. Not officially. And Patrick, of all people, should know that one night of passion does not a relationship make. He wanted to be sick, the bile rising to the back of his throat, but he was not about to give these people the satisfaction. He knew they knew who he was even if he had no idea of any of them were.

 

“Patrick, meet Adam and Dan, my best friends since grade school. And this is Lindsay. Guys, meet Patrick Kane,” Jonny motioned between his friends and teammate.

 

“Patrick fucking Kane,” the muscly, stocky blonde named Dan extended his hand for Patrick to shake. “Nice to finally meet you, man. That game-winning goal in Philly was insane!”

 

“Thanks, man,” Patrick laughed politely and let Dan pull him in for a bro hug, but he kept his eyes on Jonny and the blonde….Lindsay? She seemed suspicious at best, full body turned to face him, listening with rapt attention as Jonny talked; huge smile, touching his arm every so often, it all seemed so….flirtatious. The worst part was Jonny letting it happen right in front of Patrick and the entire damn world! Well, did she know that not even twenty-four hours ago it was Patrick’s cock up Jonny’s ass, making him moan and cry out? She was Jonny’s type – small, blonde and pretty – except Patrick was under the impression his captain preferred those with a “Y” chromosome.

 

As Patrick talked with Dan and Adam, the realization that maybe Jonny did not _have_ a preference hit him like a low blow in the gut. Up to this point, the Canadian’s life had been all hockey all the time, with his eyes on the prize: winning the Stanley Cup. There had been no time for girls or boys or a relationship, but that one goal was achieved and Jonny was a full-fledged adult with a sex drive. Where Patrick had messed around in high school and juniors, Jonny had been straight-laced and celibate, coming of age surrounded by boys. He was bound to be confused. _So, was I just an experiment? A fleeting feeling enough to make Jonny brave enough to lose his virginity? Was I convenient; the resident team hoe willing to give it up to any boy with a nice body and pretty face?_ Fuck, he wanted to hurl, but alcohol would do.

 

He excused himself to go find the beer. Brent and Corey were wrapped up in each other near the bonfire, oblivious to the college kids partying around them and sharing a bottle of Corona between them. They were talking, smiling, looking into each others’ eyes, swaying slightly to the music as if they were in a romantic comedy. Everything Patrick wanted and had spent years hoping and dreaming he could have with Jonny even though he didn’t think he deserved it. Then Jonny began returning his physical touches and feelings; they were inseparable best friends and Patrick started to think maybe his dreams could actually become a reality. He thought last night was it; Jonny was his and he was Jonny’s. All the other boys could pack their bags and go home because Patrick finally had the one he wanted. _How foolish_.

 

A tub of ice filled with assorted bottles and cans of beer sat near the DJ booth, and Patrick grabbed a bottle of Bud Light. Some frat guys stopped him to tell him facts and stats about himself and his team that he already knew, and a group of girls, all drunk off their asses, gathered around him for a picture. He engaged these people he didn’t know, smiling, laughing and flirting the way they expected, but also hoping Jonny would see him having a good time. _See, Jonathan, I’m totally fine. I don’t need you._ Eventually, Patrick was able to find a quiet spot in the yard near the waterline, stretching out in a chaise lounge with his second beer. The Canadian lake water rolled under silver moonlight, lapping at the beach before retreating again, and he heard the party going on in the distance. The night smelled like fire and sea. Patrick inhaled the crisp, refreshing air. He had been looking forward to this visit the entire summer, but now all he wanted to do was go home where his mom would make coffee while he and his sisters gossiped about boys. He needed their input on this whole Jonny situation, but he also needed their giggles and sarcasm and unconditional love.

 

Patrick remained where he was, enjoying the peaceful moment alone, sipping his beer until the shrieks and din of drunk college kids died down a bit. The music had been switched from thumping dance music to soft rock and pop for a mellow ambience. Some couples broke away from the crowd for private moments. Unfortunately, they invaded his spot, so Patrick wandered back up to the house for another drink. He didn’t see Corey and Brent, but David, Adam and the girl from the dock were sitting together on a blanket in front of the fire. Before he could bend over to get another beer out of the melting ice, a strong hand gripped his arm and a big body was crowding him back against the deck railing.

 

“Where have you been?” a very drunk Jonny leaned into the smaller man, slotting his knee between Patrick’s legs. “I’ve been looking for you. Are you mad at me?”

 

“What? No, Jonny!” Patrick pushed on the Canadian’s chest. “Dude, you reek like alcohol.”

 

Jonny laughed, resting his palms on the railing, totally boxing in Patrick, “S’fun. You look so hot in the moonlight, baby. God damn, Patrick.”

 

Patrick looked up into Jonny’s hazy brown eyes, brow furrowed and heart reeling because he has been waiting all day for those kinds of words from this man. Not like this, though. Not when he was stumbling drunk, slurring his words and probably will not even remember any of it in the morning. The smaller man kept pushing at Jonny’s chest, but the taller man was still strong despite his inebriation, “Step back, Jonny. You’re drunk and I’m not doing this tonight.”

 

“Come on, Patty boy,” Jonny grinned and any other time it would have been charming, “don’t you wanna repeat last night?” He leaned in to whisper against Patrick’s ear, an overwhelming scent of hops emanating from his breath and through his pores. “It was so good. Your body rocking against me, filling me up. Baby, now it’s my turn to return the favor. Kiss me.”

 

“No! Stop! Jonny, get off me!” Patrick forced his palms in the drunk man’s chest and shoulders, turning his head to avoid Jonny’s descending lips, becoming frantic to escape. This wasn’t his friend and teammate. He didn’t know who this drunken fool was but he was definitely not his responsible, serious captain or the sweet, earnest guy he had made love to last night. This is not the guy Patrick has been pining over for years. As much as he loved sex, and especially sex with Jonny, Patrick no longer wanted casual or to be someone’s convenient fuck. The uninhibited Canadian dipped his head, pushing his hips against Patrick and trying to kiss his neck, to get his hands under his shirt and in his pants.

 

“Stop, Jonny, no! You’re wasted.” Tears burned at his eyes as he continued to shove at Jonny’s head and hands, squirming, desperate to get away now. But Jonny just chuckled and kept trying to kiss and grope him.

 

“Come on, Kaner, don’t tell me you don’t want it, too. I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me all day, and we both know – hell, the whole world knows – that you can’t say no to sex.”

 

“Off, Jonny, get off! I’m not fucking around! Get off me!”

 

“Hey! Think you better listen to him, Tazer,” Brent stepped between the panicked blonde and the drunk aggressor, shoving the tall man off Patrick while Corey dragged him back and restrained his arms.

 

“Oh, fuck, we’re just having some fun,” Jonny shook them off, grinning, “right, baby?”

 

“Fuck off, Jonny!” Patrick spat, sniffling and wiping the tears from his face.

 

“No, c’mon, I didn’t—,”

 

“Just fuck off and leave me alone!” Patrick slammed the door on his way inside the house.

 

“Okay, big guy, it’s time to get you to bed,” Brent patted drunk, bewildered Jonny’s chest then looked over at Corey. “Party’s over. I’ll have David send everyone home. Babe, you should probably go check on Kaner.”

 

“Yup, on it,” Corey squeezed his boyfriend’s shoulder as he passed on his way inside the house.

 

“Seabs, what the hell, man, it’s fine. Party pooper,” Jonny slurred, rolling his eyes. He went for the steps leading out to the yard but stumbled over himself. Brent caught him.

 

“Yeah, you’re not fine. Forcing yourself on your boyfriend is not fine either. You’re wasted and not thinking clear.”

 

The drunk Canadian scoffed, snorting, "He's  _not_ my boyfriend."


	12. I don't like it, but I guess things happen that way....

This whole trip had been a mistake, but Patrick was angrier at his foolish heart than anything. He had let himself hope for something – someone – he did not deserve. It was time to go. There was another week until training camp, but right now Patrick needed to be home, putting distance between himself and Jonny before they were around each other every day. He needed his sisters to sympathize and his parents to tell him he’s overreacting, that there are other fish in the sea. Sniffling and blinded by tears, Patrick threw yesterday’s clothes in his suitcase, wiping at his nose and cheeks.

 

“Hey, Peeks, you okay?” Corey stood in the doorway, brown eyes soft. “Never mind, that was a dumb question. Um, you wanna talk about what just happened?”

 

Patrick shook his head, taking in a shuddering breath before raising his chin to allow Corey to see his red-rimmed eyes and puffy face, “Not really. I mean, what am I supposed to say? He’s drunk. He’s handsy when he’s _not_ drunk, so I’m not surprised.”

 

“Don’t do that, Peeks. Don’t make excuses for him. Drunk or not, he crossed the line,” the goaltender reasoned gently. “At the same time, though, everyone makes mistakes and I’ve never known you to be a quitter. Can’t work anything out if you’re running away.”

 

“At some point, sticking around is foolishness. You know the definition of insanity, right?” Patrick tossed the stick of deodorant on his haphazard pile of t-shirts and shorts. “Besides, if he’s not willing to own it and come out to the media and the fans, then I can’t be with him. It’s not going to work. I won’t be someone’s dirty little secret again.”

 

“Um, what? You wanna explain that last part?”

 

“No,” Patrick glared.

 

Corey raised his hands, palms out, and shrugged, “Okay, man, fine. All I’m saying is you’ve spent years pining for this guy. Lord knows why, but the heart wants what it wants, I guess. Anyway, it would be a shame to let love go.”

 

“I’m not pining.”

 

“Mmm, ya kinda are. It’s kinda obvious to everyone, man. The little looks when he’s not looking, the smiles when he walks into the room, the teasing flirting whether the cameras are on or off, and don’t even get me started on your on-ice shenanigans,” Corey smirked. “It goes both ways, Peeks. He does the same things.”

 

“Then what’s his problem?” Patrick mumbled.

 

“He’s stubborn and idiotic. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know; a little guy, winger, scores goals and cellies like a fool, wears 88, maybe you heard of him?”

 

Patrick rolled his eyes, refusing to justify his friend’s snarkiness with a response.

 

“Just don’t leave, okay? Let him sleep it off, and you take the time you need to be alone or whatever. Then talk to him. Actually pin him down and don’t take any of his vague shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovely readers! Thank you! Please feel free to leave comments.


	13. Just look into my eyes, they’ll never lie to you; and I’m only halfway sober….

Pounding. Everything pounded and hurt – it felt like a jackhammer drilling holes in his brain. Jonny groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing his arms across his throbbing forehead, but he kept his eyes closed against the light that was sure to be filling the room. _Wait….where am I? Is this my bed?_ His hand drifted down along the Egyptian cotton sheets. They felt like his, but he had no recollection of how he got here. And he smelled smoke on his skin, in his clothes, as last night came back like snapshots in his mind. The bonfire, his friends dancing and drinking in the yard; Jonny remembered catching up with Lindsay, Adam and Dan, sitting on the dock with their stash of beer. Drinking. So much drinking. He had wanted to forget about Patrick and that dejected pouty face for just a few hours; to not think about the searing, Patrick-sized ache in his own heart. Then…. _oh god, no. Shit! Fuck!_

 

His stomach roiled at what he had done; the fear on Patrick’s face, panic in his voice as Jonny had him up against the deck railing. _Oh god, what did I say to him? What did I do?_ He remembered Brent and Corey pulling him off his best friend. Patrick had been crying, but Jonny would never forget the anger flashing from those blue eyes as the American told him to fuck off before slamming the door. Worse yet was the resentment that had contorted the blonde’s beautiful face – like he no longer recognized Jonny – and it was that devastated look that absolutely killed him. If Patrick lost all respect and could not trust him now, then what did that mean for their friendship, their on-ice chemistry, and Jonny’s responsibility as his captain? _Fuck!_ He did not need the media to ruin his career. Oh no, apparently he was quite capable of fucking up everything good all on his own.

 

After another ten minutes, Jonny decided the throbbing behind his eyes was not going to stop on its own, so he sucked it up and slowly slid out of bed. Surprisingly, his Jello legs carried him to the bathroom for water and aspirin. He went about his morning business unhurried, stalling for time to figure out how to face Corey, Brent and David in the wake of what happened last night. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Patrick. Nothing seemed good enough. All of the words he thought to say just sounded so….trite and shallow, and not at all a true representation of how he felt.

 

Jonny wiped his mouth and dropped his toothbrush back into its holder, then shuffled his bare feet across the carpet, pulling a clean t-shirt out of the dresser and putting it on. After pulling on a fresh pair of basketball shorts, there was nothing else preventing him from leaving the bedroom. He sighed, running a hand through his longish brown hair a few times. Time to face the music….or, in this case, his own embarrassment.

 

Upon entering the kitchen, Jonny noticed Corey and Brent sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and sharing sections of the morning newspaper. He kept his head ducked as he went to the coffeepot and grabbed a clean mug from the rack beside the stove, pouring a cup of the dark, hot liquid. The newspaper rustled. Brent cleared his throat as Jonny replaced the carafe.

 

“How’re you feeling this morning?” Brent questioned. Jonny turned to face his friends, leaning back against the counter just in case the woozy feeling in his stomach and head decided to intensify.

 

“My head hurts,” Jonny sipped his coffee, the bitter liquid hitting his tongue and sliding smooth down his throat. Usually, he needed sugar to stomach the stuff but right now it helped settle the storm in his gut. He also did not need anything else in his system influencing his thoughts, actions or speech.

 

“Good. You need a greasy ham sandwich and ketchup to help that hangover?” Corey taunted.

 

Jonny groaned, clutching at his mid-section, “Oh god, shut up.”

 

“Do you have any idea what you did last night, Mr. Drunky Drunk?” Corey pinned the captain with a dark, unblinking stare.

 

“Yes, I realize I acted like a fool,” Jonny rubbed his temples between his thumb and middle finger, hoping to abate the renewed throbbing.

 

“Dude, you were more than a fool. You were an idiot, an asshole, a—,”

 

“Okay, babe, I think he gets it,” Brent interrupted with a firm hand on the goalie’s thigh.

 

“Just making sure he understands,” Corey mumbled, still glaring.

 

“What are you going to say to him?” Brent asked, and they all knew to whom he was referring.

 

Jonny shrugged, wanting to vomit and hide, anything to not have this conversation, but his Maman and Papa didn’t raise him to be a coward, “Start with an apology and see how he reacts, I guess. Where is he?”

 

“Still sleeping, probably. His door was closed when we got up,” Brent explained.

 

“You better _grovel_ , man. He was ready to catch a flight back to Buffalo last night, but I convinced him to stay. Don’t make him regret that decision, or I’m coming for you. I know where you sleep,” Corey squinted at the younger man, and Jonny knew he was only half-joking about that last part. It was the half of the big goalie that was not joking, however, that set him on edge. Jonny had no doubt Corey would defend Patrick’s honor if necessary, and he was terrified of what would happen if Sharpy found out. He had no doubt Sharpy would knock him into next week if this did not get resolved now.

 

“All right, babe, all right,” Brent patted his boyfriend’s chest. “You’re big, bad Corey fuckin’ Crawford: defender of the net and defender of hearts.”

 

“You better fucking believe it. I don’t care who you are, you don’t mess with people I love.”

 

“Yes, but we love Jonathan, too, despite the fact he acted like a complete jackass.”

 

“Okay, I’m standing right here,” Jonny reminded. At that moment, Patrick wandered into the kitchen, eyes half-closed and yawning, but at least he was fully clothed. Jonny immediately ducked his head again, avoiding eye contact while sipping his coffee, and moved out of the way. They all knew Patrick would not be fully aware until he had some caffeine in his system. Jonny noticed Brent nudge Corey, and they exchanged a meaningful look before both men grabbed their half-full mugs of coffee and exited the room. _Traitors._

 

His eyes trailed after the seemingly sleepwalking American. Patrick went straight for the coffee and poured a mugful before lifting the mug to his lips and taking several sips. Slowly, his eyes went from slits to the large blue pools Jonny knew them to be, then realization dawned.

 

“What?” Patrick snapped, eyes narrowing.

 

“Um, I—I, uh, I’m surprised you’re still here.” _Fuck! Way to go, smooth operator._

 

“You want me to go? Just say the word, Jonathan, and I’m gone,” Patrick straightened, body stiff and tense, but he refused to give up the coffee mug.

 

“No!” Jonny protested too loud, then lowered his voice. “No. I don’t want you to go.”

 

“Then what do you want, Jonny? God damn!” Patrick leveled the Canadian with a striking glare, holding his body as tall as he was capable, shoulders squared as if he was steeling himself for whatever his alleged best friend was about to dole out. “Tell me. Start talking, Jonathan Bryan.”

 

Jonny set his mug on the counter and started toward Patrick, who was still standing near the coffeepot. He needed Patrick to see his face, to know he meant what he said, but when the blonde took a couple steps back, Jonny stopped advancing. There they stood in the kitchen; the tall captain standing several feet from his best friend, hands at his sides because he couldn’t reach out to the scared blonde. The winger was shrunk back against the counter, looking small and vulnerable, and Jonny hated himself because he did that to him. He made Patrick that way, and he never wanted to repeat this mistake.

 

“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Jonny began, forcing himself to make eye contact as the realization hit like a punch in the gut. He felt wobbly and woozy again but not from the hangover. Before him stood the one guy – the most important boy in his life – he never wanted to hurt but held the power to hurt the most. He sucked in a breath of air in order to say what he needed to say. “I’m so sorry for being an asshole yesterday, for what I did to you last night. Drunk or not, it should not have ever happened, and I don’t know what I can do to make it right – or even if I _can_ make it right. But I want to try. Please let me try, Patrick, because this tension between us sucks. I hate it because I love you.”

 

“What?” Patrick’s eyes went wide.

 

“Well, I, um, uh, I—,”

 

“No, you said it. Say it again, Jonny, unless you don’t mean it.”

 

“I mean it, Patrick. I love you,” Jonny repeated with all the conviction he had, and Patrick was well aware that Captain Serious never half-assed anything. “Please forgive me. Will you forgive me?”

 

For the first time in maybe twenty four hours, Patrick smiled; that half lift of one side of his mouth making his eyes glitter with their usual mischief. Jonny wanted to kiss that little smirk right off those full, pink lips. Now Patrick was flirting, batting those long-lashed blue eyes like he knew exactly what he was doing to Jonny’s already delicate gut and emotions.

 

“I forgive you, Jonny,” Patrick continued sipping his coffee right where he was, but all the fear disappeared. His body relaxed as the tension eased and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

 

“Yeah?” Jonny took a chance on his own smile and it paid off because a full-on grin now split Patrick’s face. It was still the most beautiful thing Jonny had ever seen – even better than the Stanley Cup.

 

“Yeah, ya big dope, I hate fighting with you,” Patrick set his own coffee mug on the counter behind him. This time he made the first move toward his best friend. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. I hold a pretty fierce grudge, and you, sir, screwed up royally.” The shorter man draped his forearms on the tall brunette’s broad shoulders, trailing his fingertips through the short hair at the back of Jonny’s neck. The perfect apples of Jonny’s cheeks when he smiled, pulling his whole face up and dimpling the scars on his chin and cheek, made Patrick want to press his lips against every imperfection on this man’s face. What were usually considered flaws, or even ugly, somehow made Jonny that much more sexy and drop dead gorgeous, but it was the glint in those dark eyes, creased at the corners, that gave away he was playing along.

 

“Oh, is that so, eh?” Patrick’s voice rumbled low in the Canadian’s ear. He lifted up onto his tiptoes to kiss the small rounded scar near the corner of Jonny’s mouth. “You can start making it up to me right now.” He dragged his lips down Jonny’s face, opening his mouth to bite his captain’s stubbly chin before pressing his mouth down the column of Jonny’s throat to be rewarded with a sexy moan. Patrick’s lips and teeth nipped at the flesh of the Canadian’s neck, then his warm breath and the flat of his tongue soothed. Digging his fingers into blonde curls, Jonny lifted the shorter man’s face from his neck and swooped in to capture those full, pink lips between his own. Patrick let out a delighted chuckle, closing his eyes, but Jonny was not joking anymore. He slanted his mouth over Patrick’s, grip tightening in his hair as he increased the pressure on his lips, kissing him until their lips chapped and they were both panting for air.

 

A thought that this was wrong briefly passed through Patrick’s brain. He should stop this for his own self-preservation because Jonny wasn’t making any promises. It just felt so good to kiss him, touch him, and to be held in his strong hands. Sometimes, Patrick felt like he was starving for physical attention and Jonny was the choicest morsel needed to satiate and satisfy. Then another blonde, pretty face flashed through his mind. Patrick broke the kiss, pushing against the captain’s chest to put a couple inches between them.

 

“What about Lindsay?” Patrick inquired.

 

“What about her?” Jonny grasped for his winger but was kept at arm’s length. “Come back here.”

 

“She was all over you last night, man. What the hell is she to you?”

 

“She’s a friend, Patrick. She’s dating Adam. She’s just super….affectionate. I thought we already had this discussion.”

 

Patrick shook his head, blonde curls tumbling over his forehead and rubbing along the nape of his neck. Jonny closed one hand over Patrick’s on his chest while reaching out to push those silky curls back so he could see those blue eyes uninhibited.

 

“I’m sorry, Peeks. Sorry I’m an idiot, sorry I made you doubt, I’m just….sorry. I don’t want anyone else but you, babe.”

 

Patrick smiled, “That’s all I need to hear.” Then they were kissing again, lips moving against each other and tongue tangling as Jonny wrapped himself around the smaller man. Patrick filled his hands with Jonny’s ample backside, dizzy with the euphoria of the moment and needing to know this was real. Indeed, it was not a dream; nothing fake about that ass, and he finally allowed himself to fall. There could be a crash landing and it would hurt like hell, as if his glass heart was dropped from the top of his apartment building to shatter on the pavement below, but a life with the man he loved far outweighed that risk. He refused to live in regret and ‘what ifs’. Jonny pressed his lips down Patrick’s cheek, along his jaw and neck, kissing him all over just to make sure he got the message.

 

“I love you, too,” a soft, breathy tone verging on a whine sounded against Jonny’s ear, and he felt it straight to his heart, his gut, between his legs. It was the most beautiful sound in the world – even better than blades on smooth ice and hockey sticks clacking against a puck; Patrick’s voice filled with every emotion he let show on his face all these years but never felt he could vocalize.

 

It did not seem like very long as the two men stood wrapped up in each other, necking and making out in Jonny’s kitchen, before they heard the click of Julia’s nails on the hardwood floor and the jangle of her dog tags. David must have been with her because Jonny pulled away when he heard someone clearing their throat. Patrick did not have to look at the younger Toews brother to know he was rolling his eyes.

 

“So glad I’m leaving today,” David grumbled on his way to the coffeepot. Patrick laughed, burying his face in Jonny’s shoulder then kissing it before hopping up to sit on the counter. He grabbed the still-warm mug of coffee he had abandoned earlier. Jonny went to his brother, probably intending to pour the coffee for him, but David waved him off and Julia stood in front of the pantry, whining.

 

“Oh hush, girl, when have I ever let you starve?” Jonny picked up the dog’s bowl from its’ spot near the patio door, then went to the pantry to fill it. Julia’s entire backside wagged and she jumped at his ankles excitedly until he set the filled food bowl back on the floor. She dug in, scarfing down the dry kibbles, metal tags clinking against her bowl.

 

“So, you going back to your parents’ house first, or are you going straight to school from here?” Patrick asked.

 

“I have to get some stuff from our parents’ house first, so I’ll probably spend the night then drive to school in the morning. Hockey practice starts in a couple days,” David explained. “Plus, you know, I really wanna see my girl.”

 

Patrick smiled and glanced at Jonny, who was now filling Julia’s water bowl, “Yeah, I get that.”

 

“We gonna do something today, or you two gonna make out in the kitchen all day?” David directed the inquiry at his brother. Jonny’s shoulders tensed, spine straightened, as he turned from the dog to look at David and Patrick but remained where he was by the patio door. Patrick was still grinning wide like the idiot he is, lips still red and swollen, just sipping lukewarm coffee and swinging his legs. He was so cute sitting there on Jonny’s kitchen countertop like he belonged; that was right where he was supposed to be and he was content to stay.

 

“Yeah, I mean, we can do something,” Jonny shook off his thoughts. “Gotta find out what Seabs and Crow want to do. Where are they, anyway?”

 

“Pretty sure they’re busy doing each other,” David deadpanned. Patrick busted up laughing. “I saw them head upstairs as I was coming in here.”

 

“Maybe don’t worry about them,” the blonde’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “I think they’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers,   
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story! Please comment. Tell me what you like, what you hate, what could change....your comments fuel my own desire to continue.


	14. You are my constant....

Standing on the other side of the kitchen doorway, out of view of Jonny and Patrick but close enough to hear, Corey and Brent high-fived each other when they heard the distinct sounds of two people making out. They straightened from where they had been pressing their ears to the wall. Brent leaned back against the wall.

 

“We did it,” the big defenseman grinned, twining his long arms around his boyfriend and laying a smacking kiss on his whiskered cheek.

 

“Yeah, we’re basically the best,” Corey responded, turning his head to brush his lips against Brent’s. “I just hope it lasts this time. God, those two are idiots!”

 

Brent chuckled as his large hands found their way up under the goalie’s t-shirt, feeling ridged abs and hot skin. Corey was like a furnace, generating his own body heat, and he always mentioned being hot even on the coldest Canadian winter nights. His fingers found the trail of soft hair under Corey’s belly button and he traced it down until the waistband of Corey’s low-slung cargo shorts prevented further exploration in that direction. A low, humming gasp came from the goalie as Brent teased, palming his boyfriend’s crotch over the shorts before smoothing his calloused hand back up Corey’s torso. The slightly shorter goalie pressed back against the defender’s solid chest, looking over his shoulder at the man he loved currently feeling him up in their team captain’s hallway.

 

“Gettin’ fresh with your goalie there, eh?” Corey grinned, settling his palms back against Brent’s thighs. “Wait ‘til I tell coach about this. You’ll be in so much trouble.”

 

“Mmm, I just can’t help myself. Hot, matchmaking goalies are such a turn on,” Brent flirted back, rubbing his chin in Corey’s dark, thick, disheveled wavy hair. “Please don’t tell, I promise I’ll be a good boy.” He leaned in to growl against his boyfriend’s ear. “Wanna take this upstairs for round two?”

 

Corey just grinned with that devilish look in his dark brown eyes and gripped Brent’s wrists to pull those roaming hands out from under his shirt. Then, taking Brent’s hand, he led the way up the stairs. Once back in the guest room, Corey tumbled his boyfriend onto the bed as they kissed hungrily, hands touching everywhere they could reach. He settled into the cradle of Brent’s thighs and held his face as their lips collided, tongues prodding for entrance then rubbing together as the kiss became more passionate. Brent’s hands slid up under his goalie’s shorts, along his massive thighs; thick as cedar trees and strong from years of squats and butterfly saves. He loved those thighs and the ass they supported, but it was the man – quiet and shy (unless he has a few drinks in him) off the ice but as fiercely loving and protective of his family and friends as he is of the net during games – that Brent was completely gone for. He dropped kisses down Corey’s neck, gently biting and sucking at the scratchy flesh where his dark beard was already coming in even though he had shaved yesterday.

 

In response, Corey rolled his hips, grinding his half-hard cock against the defenseman’s pelvis, and he was done waiting. He pushed the elastic waistband far enough down for Brent’s cock to spring free, and he heard as well as felt the vibration of the moan against his throat. Brent’s back arched, thighs falling open further – a heady thing, even after all these years, that Corey could reduce the strong, capable defenseman to a boneless mess and wanton sounds. Now it was his turn to get his hands under Brent’s shirt, hooking his thumbs on the hem to push it up, then the goalie’s mouth and tongue traveled down the bared flesh sparsed generously with hair and a few scars. The usual bruises from the season had faded, but throwing his body in front of swinging sticks and hard shot pucks certainly left lasting evidence, too. The longest scar ran the length of Brent’s right hipbone from when he had an emergency appendectomy in Boston a couple years ago.

 

They had not been too serious at that point; not going out on dates, just staying in to drink, make out and fuck because neither were certain where they would be in a year. Corey had been the back-up goalie that night, so he was on the bench to see all six-foot-nine-inches and 250 pounds of Zdeno Chara barrel into the six-foot-three, 220-pound defenseman’s right side, absolutely flattening him. Solid, sturdy Brent Seabrook, built to take those big hits from guys like Chara, had not moved from his prone position on the ice. Corey still remembered the fear that had washed over him, the overwhelming urge to jump over that wall because he needed to know if Brent was okay. It had been far too long since Brent had moved and that was just not right. When the linesman had finally stopped play, Jonathan had helped the injured defenseman back to his feet, but Brent remained doubled over in pain and had to almost be dragged back to the bench. That look the defenseman had given him – hazel eyes a dark grey and furrowed together, pleading and panicked – was not normal. This was not how Brent acted after hard hits. The rest of the night had been a blur, but Corey recalled screaming for the trainer to come over and tend to Brent, wanting to take the hurt he was so clearly in as he held his stomach and rocked in pain. Decked out in his goalie gear, Corey had been unable to lumber out of his seat to go to Brent. He was only able to watch as the trainer pressed against Brent’s side and he yelled out in pain. Then he had been quickly ushered out of the rink with the help of the trainer and an assistant.

 

Eventually, the whole team had gotten the news their teammate had been rushed to the hospital with a ruptured appendix, which the doctors had been able to remove before the toxins entered his bloodstream. Brent would be fine but unable to play hockey for a couple weeks. Immediately after the game – he couldn’t remember if they won or lost – Corey had dressed in his street clothes and called a cab to the hospital before the post-game interviews were even over. The fear had quickly become relief when he saw Brent and his sleepy grin in that Boston hospital recovery room, and that was the night they decided they were willing to do whatever it took to be together. An uncertain future was much more palatable with Brent by his side, and it did not appear as though that would be changing any time soon.

 

Corey deliberately scraped his beard against his lover’s thigh as he dragged his tongue up Brent’s long, thick erection. The things about the defenseman was that he was big _everywhere_ , much to Corey’s delight; muscle corded in his shoulders, broad chest and back, lean hips, huge thighs and ass, and a cock that filled him up so completely he wanted to write sonnets about it but iambic pentameter just wasn’t this thing.

 

“Oh, fuck, Corey,” Brent groaned, fingers buried in his boyfriend’s thick hair, raising his hips to meet the warm, wet heat of Corey’s plush lips closing over the head of his engorged penis. He looked down to meet his lover’s dark brown gaze, watching as he took him into his mouth, then falling back to the bed to just feel; the sensations overtook as his lover sucked and licked, coating his cock with saliva as the familiar pressure built up in his loins. “Oh, baby, yes, so good.” Brent’s thumb massaged circles in his lover’s temple. When Corey hummed on his sensitive flesh, though, that was all he could take. Brent pulled the still fully clothed – which, not fair – goalie off his cock and flipped them so Corey was on his back now, smirking up at him like a tease. Growling, Brent kicked off his shorts, then pulled Corey’s off as well before straddling him and rubbing their naked, fully erect cocks together.

 

Both men groaned, close to bursting. Corey gripped his boyfriend’s biceps and raised his knees as if beckoning his lover to have his way even though Brent didn’t need an invitation. He gently cupped Corey’s cheek in his palm, looking down at his handsome boyfriend with all the love he felt for him evident in his hazel eyes, and his other hand smoothed down the goalie’s hip, along the swell of his ass to finger him open. Corey groaned out, biting his lip and spreading his legs wider, gaze never breaking from his lover’s. Then Brent was reaching for the lube and condoms they had left out from earlier that morning. Corey rolled the condom onto his lover’s penis as Brent ensured his goalie’s hole was well-lubed, slick and stretched. He wanted Corey to feel only pleasure when his huge cock pushed into him. That first time, caught up in need and passion, Brent had been too hurried and, though neither of them were virgins, Corey had never been with anyone that big. He bled and Brent had felt so bad, apologizing profusely for hurting him despite Corey’s assurance that he would be fine.

 

“Come on, babe, fuck me,” Corey squeezed his lover’s arm before crooking an elbow on his neck to drag his face down for a kiss.

 

“Mmm, so romantic,” Brent nipped at Corey’s bottom lip, the corner of his mouth, his chin, then buried his face in his lover’s neck as he buried his cock in his body with one swift, firm push of his hips. Corey gasped, loving the sweet pain of his sensitive flesh stretching to accommodate Brent’s long, thick girth filling him up like he was made to be there. Losing himself in his lover’s shallow thrusts, the goalie’s hands slid to cover his defenseman’s nipples, kneading and massaging, as Brent cupped Corey’s head in his palms and brought their foreheads together. The pull and push of his lover’s cock against his slicked insides felt so good, so right, making Corey shudder and moan in ecstasy.

 

Soon, the steady pace was not enough and Brent snapped his hips to increase the depth and force of his thrusts, fucking into his lover’s tight hole until his cock hit up against that deep sweet spot that made Corey arch his hips up for more and bite his lip to keep from crying out. Brent shifted so he was kneeling on the mattress and hauled Corey into his lap, hooking the goalie’s thighs over his hips and digging his fingers into the meaty flesh while roughly impaling his lover’s hot, rippling tunnel.

 

“Ungh, fuck, you’re so good, babe,” Corey’s hands alternated between clenching in the sheets and Brent’s thighs as that wonderful pressure built deep inside. After several deep, hard thrusts, Brent leaned over him again, wrapping his arms around Corey’s torso and pulling his lover close. He laid gentle kisses down Corey’s forehead, nose and cheek, over his closed eyes. The goalie’s dripping cock now trapped between their bodies received just the right amount of friction rubbing against hard, hot skin. Corey cried out against his lover’s neck, tugging on his hair, drowning in pleasure, then Brent buried himself with one final plunge and let go, moaning as he came. His thrusts became languid; hands pushing Corey’s hair back as he captured his mouth in a deep, slow kiss, letting his actions say just how much he cherished this man. It was enough for Corey because he released on a gasp, cum spurting across both their stomachs. Brent pulled out before going completely soft, but the goalie still winced and dug his fingernails into the defenseman’s shoulders. He propped up onto his elbows to take most of his weight off his boyfriend’s torso and cradled the back of Corey’s head in his palms, looking down into his incredibly handsome face.

 

“You’re pretty good too, baby,” Brent smiled, thumbs casually rubbing against his lover’s cheeks and around his ears. Reaching up to grip Brent’s forearms, Corey chuckled and his face seemingly glowed as he held nothing back from the man he loved. Of course, Brent knew – and was confident in – the way Corey felt about him, but the guy was so reserved he tended to put a neutral veneer on his emotions in public. “I always like when you talk during sex; like you’re saving your words for me.”

 

“I’d save all my words for you, babe,” Corey batted his dark-fringed chocolate eyes at his boyfriend. Brent laughed, head thrown back in abandon, his whole body shaking and face turned up with joy. That was the thing he loved about the defenseman; he was either in or out for everything he did, not concerned about pleasing or doing the “popular” thing. And when it came to Corey, Brent was _definitely_ all in. Right now, though, Corey was sticky….and hot. “So, are you gonna clean me off some time today?”

 

“Yep, be right back,” Brent patted his boyfriend’s chest then got off him. Corey’s eyes tracked his lover’s movements, thoroughly enjoying the rippling of muscles beneath his skin, the jiggle of that ass as he walked, naked, to the door. Brent cracked it enough to make sure no one was around before bolting to the bathroom across the hall. He returned a minute later, penis soft and condom-free, with a warm, damp wash cloth and straddled Corey again. He gently wiped the cum off the goalie’s stomach, then swiped the wash cloth over the pink hole and swollen flesh between Corey’s legs before dropping the damp cloth to the floor.

 

“Do you think Jon would mind if we just stay here all day?” Corey muttered, turning onto his side for Brent to spoon up against his back.

 

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Brent kissed his boyfriend’s ear, gently biting down on the shell, then settling his chin in the crook of Corey’s neck and shoulder. “We’re the adults here, baby, we can do what we want.”

 

“Yeah, can’t argue with that,” Corey grinned. “Fucking children.” They laid together in silence, legs tangled, for several moments before Brent broke it.

 

“Baby, can I ask you something?” he asked. Corey turned in his embrace to look at his face, concerned about the hesitation in his voice.

 

“Of course, babe, anything,” the goalie responded, settling his palm against his defenseman’s ruddy cheek. His dark eyes searched Brent’s hazel ones, but they gave nothing away. _Oh god, he’s not—_ Corey’s heart began pounding as if Brent was still fucking him or it was the last minute of Game 7 and the score was tied. Yes, he wanted to get married….someday. He was pretty sure Brent was the one, but not yet.

 

“Do you want to move in with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Took a small break from Patrick and Jonny to develop Brent and Corey's relationship a little bit. It's necessary to understand their dynamics for future chapters :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Whether you love, hate or just moderately like, please comment. Your comments fuel the writing fire!


	15. Don't let your fears try to tear us apart....

“Do you think we’d still be in each other’s lives if we didn’t play hockey?” Patrick had his feet propped up on Jonny’s thighs, lounging longways on the sectional and scrolling through the text messages from his sisters and Sharpy. Jonny was watching some French-Canadian crime drama, but Patrick was only catching, like, every tenth word and not at all paying attention to the English subtitles Jonny had so graciously turned on. They had not seen Brent and Corey since their encounter in the kitchen at breakfast. Patrick knew what they were doing and would not have minded doing the same with Jonny on what became a rainy, overcast day, but it was David’s last day and the brothers had wanted to hang out. David had owned both of them at table tennis, then Jonny had won three out of five races in Mario Kart. Now, David was gone, and Jonny and Patrick had been lounging on the couch for the past hour.

 

“Huh?” Jonny paused the DVR and looked down at the man half-draped across his lap.

 

Patrick dropped the phone on his chest and gazed back with those expressive blue eyes, licking his lips like he did when he was nervous, “Do you think we would have ever met if we didn’t play hockey?”

 

Jonny hesitated for a moment, thinking, then shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t believe in soul mates.”

 

“You, um, you don’t?” Patrick swallowed against the bitter taste that suddenly forced its way up into the back of his throat.

 

“No. Love is a choice. It’s foolish to believe there’s one person in this vast universe for me. Like, the divorce rate is proof enough of that, eh? I think you choose to be in love with someone and you make the decision every day to choose that person above all others. It’s not chemicals that keep people together, but rather their own staying power, sacrifices and compromises for each other.”

 

Patrick wanted to argue and tell him just now wrong and completely unromantic that statement sounded, but Jonny’s fingers were skating lightly over his legs, palms warm and distracting. He was content at the moment just to have the freedom to touch Jonny whenever he wanted and to be talking about something other than hockey. Now was not the time to argue, but he refused to not say anything.

 

“I think we would be,” Patrick stated, shrugging and looking down at his phone again. “Like, regardless of who we became, I think God or the universe would have brought us together somehow.”

 

Jonny reached out to lift the winger’s chin with his fingers, forcing Patrick to meet his dark, unblinking eyes, “This is the course our lives took, eh. We _did_ meet and ended up on the same team, and I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.” His thumb swiped along Patrick’s full bottom lip, and he was blessed with a shy lift of one side of the American’s mouth, dimples on full display. “Come on.” Jonny grabbed Patrick’s hand, tugging him up from the couch.

 

“What? Why? Where are you taking me? Why can’t you just, like, be still for ten minutes? You’re not going to make me do yoga, are you?”

 

Jonny ignored the barrage of slightly annoyed questions while leading the shorter man out to the backyard. Julia also roused from where she had been curled up sleeping on her bed and trailed after the two men. Curious, Patrick shut up and let the Canadian lead; a concept he was used to on the ice but learning to give up control to someone else in every day life was still scary. They walked side-by-side through the yard. When Jonny entwined his fingers with Patrick’s, pressing their palms together, the American glanced over at the Canadian and smile, but Jonny was oblivious, intent on his mission. Barefoot, they wandered out to the end of the dock, where Jonny sat and dangled his long legs over the edge, gently urging Patrick down beside him. Julia settled onto her haunches at Jonny’s other side, and they sat in silence for several long moments.

 

The huge lake went all the way to the horizon, water lapping against and over itself, light breeze swooshing through the aspens, rustling the leaves. The late setting sun colored the sky with pinks, oranges and reds, reflecting off the ever-shifting lake, and the scent of pine mixed with slightly fishy lake water drifted on the air. It was breathtaking: a perfect Canadian summer night. Patrick was afraid he might not ever want to leave, especially if Jonny stayed by his side just like this.

 

He loved the city of Chicago, but Lake Michigan was like a watering hole compared to the vastness and natural beauty of Jonny’s backyard. Turning his head, Patrick gazed at his best friend, whose eyes were fixed on the scenery before him, a smile lifting his cheeks. Jonny turned his face into the warm, gentle breeze floating through their hair. He had one hand in Julia’s short fur and the other rested just above Patrick’s knee; relaxed, content, not having to think ten steps ahead and plan for every possible scenario. Instead, he could just enjoy the moment, the simple pleasure of being home with his dog and his friends and God’s grandeur displayed before him. _He is so beautiful._

 

Patrick leaned into his captain’s shoulder, “How can you leave this place to live in Chicago for eight months out of the year?” He felt Jonny’s shrug and the rumble of his voice as he replied.

 

“Because I love hockey.” He paused, looking down at the blonde curly head on his shoulder, “And you’re there. I always know that leaving here means going to where you are. Both places are home.” Patrick didn’t respond, but if the wistful smile on his face was any indication, he was thinking the same thing. Jonny’s arm snaked around the American’s waist and Patrick nestled into the security and warmth his big, firm body offered. His other hand reached across to tip Patrick’s face up as he leaned down to kiss those soft, pouty lips; sweet and gentle, just a brushing of lips, until the winger’s tongue was probing the seam of his mouth, seeking entrance. Of course, Jonny let him in and sighed at the welcome intrusion, swirling his own tongue around Patrick’s honeyed mouth. Suddenly, the Canadian pulled away and hopped to his feet, smirking down at the dazed blonde as he started to strip: shirt first, which he tossed at Patrick’s head.

 

“What are you….oh,” Patrick got to his feet, too.

 

Jonny was completely naked now, standing on the dock unashamed and sexy as hell, “You gonna stand there and catch flies or come join me, eh?” The brunette executed the most graceful dive Patrick had ever seen, sleek body gliding just under the surface for several feet before he came up for air and turned to smirk at the dumbfounded blonde still standing, fully clothed, on the dock. “Come on, Peeks, the water’s great!”

 

“What are you trying to prove, Jonny?” Patrick shouted out to his friend as he too stripped down to nothing.

 

“Just trying to get rid of that Captain Serious moniker,” Jonny floated on his back until he heard a splash, and a couple seconds later Patrick broke the surface of the water.

 

“Holy shit, Toews! The water is _fucking freezing!_ ”

 

He could almost hear Patrick’s teeth chattering and swam to him, laughing and grinning at the shivering, supposedly tough hockey player, wrapping him up in his arms, “You get used to it after a bit. Here, let me help.” Not much persuasion was needed for Patrick to relax into the Canadian’s embrace, leaning against his solid chest and winding his arms around Jonny’s mid-section. Between Jonny’s body heat and the warm summer air it was not long before Patrick became accustomed to the cool water and he stopped shaking. Jonny kept his arms around him, though. Patrick dropped a kiss onto the brunette’s shoulder before bringing his hands up to cup the back of his neck, and he felt like such a walking cliché gazing upon the Canadian’s beautiful face. Happy and smiling in the silver moonlight, dark hair wet and matted against his scalp. Those shark eyes looking back, intense as ever, waiting for Patrick to make the next move. This was….different. Jonny willing to follow _his_ lead, and it was a heady feeling indeed to think Patrick could trust this man enough to give him his whole heart – or whatever was left of it – and everything else, too. He knew Jonny could, and probably would, hurt him, but the same could also be said for Patrick. They were only human after all. Forgiveness, trust and love are much stronger than all the reasons that might keep them apart.

 

He swooped in for a kiss, wet and slow, mouth moving over Jonny’s like the faintest whisper: lips capturing and tasting as if they had all the time in the world. The brunette moaned and slid his hand beneath the water, then it was the blonde’s turn to moan when Jonny’s palm closed wetly around Patrick’s soft cock. The Canadian watched his gorgeous winger gasp, impossibly long eyelashes fluttering and body shuddering. Patrick instinctively pushed his hips into his lover’s touch, bodies flush up against each other.

 

“You know, for such a small guy, you pack some impressive heat there, babe,” Jonny snickered, spreading little kisses across the American’s neck while his hand continued to stroke below the surface. Patrick dug the tips of his fingers into his captain’s broad shoulders, but he smirked and chuckled at the remark as if he wasn’t affected by the large, calloused hand working him up and down. Then Jonny leaned in to whisper against the blonde’s ear, “Race you to the buoy.”

 

He was gone in a second, power-stroking to the red, lighted marking bobbing another fifty yards out.

 

“Oh, not fair. Fuck you, Toews!”

 

The Canadian already had a decent head start when Patrick emerged from his daze and was able to fully comprehend what was happening.

 

“Please do!” Jonny called back, cackling as he glanced over his shoulder. Though there was no grace to his movements, Patrick was a powerful swimmer; arms cutting deep into the water and legs scissoring out to propel him forward surprisingly fast. He almost caught up to Jonny by the time they were only a few feet from the buoy, and Patrick reached out for one of the Canadian’s long legs in hopes he could drag him back. When he felt the graze of Patrick’s fingers against his ankle, Jonny shrieked, laughing and kicking harder to avoid being caught. With one final arm stroke, the taller man reached the buoy first, but the American was not right behind him as he had been just a moment ago. Grabbing onto the metal marker with one hand and treading water to stay above the choppier waves, Jonny pushed the hair and wet droplets back from his forehead.

 

“Patrick?” he turned his neck, frantically searching the empty lake. Where the shorter man should have been was now just ripples. “Patrick!” Then something pulled on his legs. He shrieked again as his head went under, but he did not lose his grip on the solid buoy. Jonny came up sputtering to a laughing Patrick spitting water like a fountain into his face. “The hell, man!” Jonny swiped a hand through the water, splashing the smug man, but it only made the sneaky little shit laugh harder.

 

“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, cheater,” Patrick braced himself with one palm on his best friend’s chest and the other wrapped around the steel rail of the buoy.

 

“You’re ridiculous, dude. At least I didn’t make you think I had drowned or something,” Jonny grumped, eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in his tone.

 

“Yeah right, like you actually believed that,” Patrick retorted, teasing. “You know I’ve spent my whole life either on the ice or in the water. Aw, you were worried about me. You big softie.”

 

“No, I was worried about losing the second best goal scorer on the team, and I’m absolutely man enough to admit I’m terrified of your mom.”

 

“Naw, you love me. Just admit it. You love me. You were worried about me because you can’t live without me and my big dick,” Patrick sing-songed, wrapping his arms around Jonny’s neck, clinging to him and smacking kisses on his wet cheeks. That made the taller man crack; chuckling and smirking even while rolling his eyes, and he settled his big hands on the American’s hips. Bright blue eyes looked back at him, seemingly glittering in the moonlight, and that perfectly pretty face so happy – dimples and all – very different from the previous night. Jonny was amazed at this man’s capacity to forgive, though he was sure Patrick had not forgotten. That was okay because Jonny was having a hard time forgiving himself and letting it go. Whatever that was last night – drunk, horny, confused Jonny – should never have been taken out on Patrick.

 

Jonny was ashamed. But Patrick, his heart kind and always searching for the good in people, was not interested in holding onto grudges and making judgments; he just wanted to love and be loved. Jonny wondered what the hell Patrick even saw in him. How many times would he hurt his best friend – lover? – before the blonde decided he could only take so much? Not that he intended to be an ass; he just had a knack for saying and doing all the wrong things at the absolute worst time. Sharpy often called him “socially inept” and, more than once, the media had built him up as some kind of “hockey robot” incapable of understanding human emotion and being too focused on his job.

 

Patrick shivered, and even in the pale illuminated darkness it was clear to see his lips were blue. Canada’s lakes and rivers never warmed up like in the United States. Even by the end of the summer, the temperature of Winnipeg’s lakes only reached into the low forties, and now that the sun was completely gone the air turned chilly and the water downright frigid. Pulling the smaller man even tighter against his chest, Jonny hoped his own body heat would transfer to the shaking American.

 

“Let’s go back,” Jonny suggested. To which Patrick nodded his head in agreement.

 

“Race ya!” the blonde said through chattering teeth. He pushed off Jonny’s chest, but they swam together, expending as much energy as they could just to keep warm. Right before they reached the dock, Jonny slowed to let Patrick get ahead. “I win!” he gloated as he climbed up the ladder onto the wooden dock where Julia had spread herself out across their discarded clothing, keeping it warm. Patrick thought that dog was a genius. He bent to pet her in appreciation, and she nuzzled into his hand, then he grabbed his shorts and underwear as Jonny stepped onto the dock. “Oh my god, I’m so fucking cold!” Patrick’s shivering was violent in the cool night air as he quickly dressed. The Canadian pulled on his shorts, then picked up his T-shirt and tousled it through Patrick’s wet hair to remove excess water. If his curls were not dripping wet it would help him warm up faster, plus Jonny kind of liked how the shorter man crowded into him.

 

When he finished drying Patrick’s hair, Jonny draped the damp T-shirt across the back of the blonde’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Patrick sighed as his captain’s lips landed on his: sweet and gentle, but at the same time possessive. Jonny’s tongue licked across his winger’s trembling lips with a purpose; like he was taking what he wanted, what was his, and Patrick was willing to give. The heat from the brunette’s open mouth was effective to make the chattering stop, and a flush was now working its way up the blonde’s chest and neck. Patrick’s hands closed around Jonny’s wrists, anchoring himself to his captain’s sturdiness because his head suddenly felt dizzy and light. Lips gently caressed, tongues curling around each other even as heat coiled in Patrick’s belly, but then Jonny was pulling away and the cold invaded again.

 

“No,” Patrick whined, chasing the bigger man’s warmth, needing his firm lips and safe touch.

 

“We need to get inside,” Jonny smoothed back the blonde’s hair, giving him a soft look and running his thumb over one of Patrick’s thick, light eyebrows. “You’re shivering, babe. Can’t have you sick right before training camp starts.”

 

He realized he was shaking, but Patrick was not positive it was solely from the cold anymore because that kiss made him feel hot all over. He nodded in agreement anyway. Jonny took his shirt back, draping it around his neck to catch the drips from his own still-soaking hair, then pulled Patrick into the crook of his arm and kissed the top of his head. They slowly made their way back up to the house, Patrick leaning into the taller man’s warmth and enjoying the weight of Jonny’s muscled arm laying across his shoulders to keep him close. Julia trotted along beside Patrick, craning her neck every so often to nudge at his hand in hopes for a pat on the head or scratch behind the ears. Of course, he obliged her, and Jonny smiled down at them.

 

“She’s taken quite a liking to you,” the brunette commented. “She doesn’t normally trust people this quick.”

 

“Yeah, well, she’s smart. She’s got good taste,” the blonde responded, smirking. “Kind of like her owner, eh?”

 

Jonny chuckled, squeezing his arm tighter on Patrick’s neck, “I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or yourself, but I’ll take it.” When the two men and the dog stepped back into the house, they saw Brent and Corey sitting together at the counter, drinking coffee and eating whatever fruit they could find.

 

“You two finally wear yourselves out, eh?” Jonny teased, but Brent and Corey looked neither embarrassed nor ashamed.

 

“You two finally stop being idiots?” Corey took a sip of his coffee, nudging his boyfriend and smirking. “Oh wait, no, that’s impossible. You two are idiots.”

 

Patrick laughed, pulling away from Jonny to pour both of them a cup of coffee from the still-hot liquid remaining in the carafe. However, the captain glared at his teammates and snapped his damp shirt against the goalie’s arm as he walked past on his way to Patrick. The blonde handed Jonny a mug of steaming coffee, eyes full of mirth over the rim of his own mug as he took a sip. The hot, bitter liquid went smooth down his throat, immediately warming him from the inside out, then he wandered to the other side of the counter to face Brent and Corey, leaning his arms on the granite.

 

“This guy took me skinny-dipping,” Patrick nodded his head in Jonny’s direction, and the bare-chested Canadian made his way to his winger’s side again.

 

“Ah, romantic, good job there, Tazer,” Brent affirmed his friend, crunching on an apple. “So can we consider this your first date, eh?”

 

Patrick shrugged and grinned, tipping his head to look at Jonny from under his eyelashes. He knew how he would answer that question, but was curious to hear the other man’s take on their situation. He knew Jonny felt comfortable enough with Brent and Corey to answer honestly.

 

“Naw, I don’t know. I mean, we’re not, like, official or anything,” Jonny briefly glanced at the man beside him, hoping to come across as light-hearted with a small smile playing on his lips. The smile fell from the American’s face, though. He looked down into his coffee and tried to ignore how his heart plummeted into his stomach – or at least that’s what it felt like as he crashed back to reality from the high he had been riding. What the hell was it about Jonny’s kisses and flowery words that made Patrick get his hopes up and lose all common sense? He noticed Corey gently nudge Brent’s side with his elbow. Patrick did not really know what that meant, but he was not about to let one stupid comment ruin the night.

 

“Okay, well, I’m starving,” Corey clapped his big palm on Brent’s shoulder, “so I say we double date on down to the taco joint on the boardwalk.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere until Tazer puts on a shirt,” Brent added.

 

Jonny and Patrick both changed into clean, dry clothes and Jonny made sure Julia had enough food and water before the four men left the house. They walked two miles to the boardwalk, an easy endeavor for the professional hockey players. The goalie and defenseman had their arms around each other’s waists, and Patrick was surprised when Jonny reached over to take his hand. He smiled and entwined their fingers, reveling in this small victory. They were in public; sure, it was dark, the streets and sidewalks practically empty of cars and people, but anyone passing by would still be able to tell who they were. They would still be able to see the captain of the Stanley Cup-winning Chicago Blackhawks casually holding hands with his star right winger, taking a moonlit stroll to the boardwalk. Jonny’s disparaging words from earlier regarding their relationship suddenly seemed weightless in light of his current actions.

 

“Did you guys know Winnipeg is considered the murder capital of Canada?” Jonny asked.

 

“The fuck, really?” Patrick responded. “You choose _now_ to reveal this little nugget of information as we’re walking in the dark?”

 

“Don’t worry, Kaner, you’re with professional hockey players. We’ll protect you,” Brent joked.

 

“Hey man, fists are no match for guns,” Patrick shot back. “Besides, I thought Canadians were nice and friendly and full of maple syrup.”

 

“Yes, just like all Americans are rude, obnoxious and obese,” Corey retorted.

 

“You did think that, though, when you first came to Chicago,” Brent pointed out.

 

“Rat bastard,” Corey pinched his boyfriend’s side in retaliation.

 

“Aha!” Patrick exclaimed, feeling vindicated. “See? You believed the stereotype, too!”

 

“Yeah, well, the obnoxious part wasn’t too far off,” Corey muttered. Patrick stuck his tongue out at the goalie.

 

“Stanley Cup champs everybody!” Jonny quipped. The four friends traded easy banter all the way to the taco stand, which was actually a small, converted trailer out in front of a flower shop about halfway down the boardwalk. To Patrick it did not look like much, but Jonny claimed they had the best tacos in Winnipeg. Who knew they even knew how to make tacos in such a cold place? But Patrick suspected Jonny might be biased because apparently he and the cute, young owner were on a first name basis. The tan-skinned, dark-haired guy greeted them in Spanish, then he smiled and used Jonny’s name, and the Canadian responded in French, lowering his eyelashes and returning an equally charming smile. _The fuck? Was he….flirting?_ Patrick must have been glaring because the hot Mexican – _dammit!_ – commented, “You must be the Patrick he speaks so highly of. _Hola_ , I am Manuel and I am straight.” Brent and Corey snickered. _Assholes._

 

After introductions, they ordered and made small talk with Manuel while waiting for their food. The four men sat down at one of the picnic tables overlooking the bay. The best part was they were the only ones eating tacos at eleven-thirty at night. Of course, Patrick, Brent and Corey ribbed Jonny for ordering a taco salad, telling him the carbs in corn tortillas were not going to kill him or make him fat. Jonny flipped them off and crunched his lettuce even more. Patrick was halfway through his first spicy shrimp taco – which was as delicious as it was made out to be – when Brent set down his half foil-wrapped burrito and cleared his throat.

 

“Um, we don’t want to make a big deal of this, but Corey and I want you two to know we are moving in together.”

 

“Congrats, guys,” Patrick smiled around a mouthful of shrimp and slaw.

 

Jonny set down his fork to study toe two men, his brow knitted together, “Like permanently?”

 

Brent and Corey exchanged a look before the defenseman responded, “Yes, like I’m selling my apartment in Chicago to live at Corey’s during the season, and we’re going to look for a place together in Quebec.”

 

“What happens if the media finds out? We’re Stanley Cup champions now. We can’t fly under the radar anymore,” Jonny pointed out.

 

“Just congratulate them and be happy, Captain Serious,” Patrick smacked the man’s chest, using the nickname he knew Jonny hated. Sure enough, the Canadian turned his glare onto the man beside him.

 

“Yeah, we don’t really care,” Corey responded simply. “The people that matter to us already know, and if the media wants to report on our boring lives, well then they’ll get a lot of shirtless pics of two hockey players making out on a boat. We just want to live our lives, man. Fuck the media.”

 

“My poet boyfriend, ladies and gentleman,” Brent teased, hooking his right arm around the goalie’s waist and picking up his burrito again with his free hand.

 

Corey scooted his butt on the bench, snuggling closer to his boyfriend and smiling at him, “We’re all men here, babe. Good thing you’re cute.” He pecked a quick kiss on Brent’s stubbled cheek before going back to his own burrito.

 

“Why didn’t you tell the team?” Jonny asked, sounding almost….offended that his own teammates were keeping things from him.

 

Brent shrugged, “It was a non-issue, Taze. Some guys figured it out pretty quick, and we were sure we wouldn’t be judged or prejudiced against by the team. I mean, come on, it’s not like half the guys in that room tell us every time they get a new girlfriend. It took me several months to figure out Sharpy and Abby had actually gotten married.”

 

“Most of the team already thinks you two are fucking anyway,” Corey chimed in. “Y’all are so obvious for each other. Dude, I really think you make a bigger deal out of all this than is necessary.”

 

“Just don’t post personal shit online. That solves about 98 percent of your public image concerns right there,” Brent shrugged.

 

“Yeah, but _other_ people have cell phones and take pictures then post them,” Jonny argued. “Look at Tyler Seguin. The guy doesn’t put his own indiscretions all over Twitter and Instagram, but his friends and other people who recognize him in public do. The guy has a terrible reputation.”

 

“Don’t have shitty friends and be smart. It’s not like you and Kaner are gonna go to gay strip clubs or get all wasty-pants at bars and start making out for everyone and their grandma to see,” Corey pointed out.

 

“You don’t know. We might,” Patrick grinned, knocking his knee against Jonny’s, teasing, hoping to lighten the personal weight of responsibility the captain always carried around, even if only for a night. “You know me, party boy extraordinaire, the Tyler Seguin of the Chicago Blackhawks. I’m sure I can corrupt Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes-Captain over here.” Brent and Corey chuckled at the irony, but Jonny ignored him. He did not acknowledge some of the things the media said about Patrick, nor did he deny it, and that made Patrick’s insides twist because Jonny was usually quick to defend him on the ice. Guess the same didn’t apply when it was just their friends and Patrick was joking about his own headlines that had been taken way out of context by gossip-mongering reporters. Patrick knew the truth about himself and his actions, and he really hoped Jonny did, too. At the very least that he had more faith in Patrick than some news reporters.

 

“I don’t get why you don’t just have a big press conference, come out to the world and get it over with, if you’re so concerned about public image and crap,” Brent muttered around a bite of burrito.

 

“How many of the guys know about you two?” Jonny continued, clearly trying to take the focus off of himself.

 

“Everybody now,” Corey answered. “You blind fools were the last to figure it out. We told Coach Q and the front office staff, like, as soon as we were officially dating.”

 

“How about in the league?” Patrick wanted to know.

 

Brent shrugged, wadding up his now-empty foil into a ball, “I don’t know, a couple dozen or so?” He looked to his boyfriend for confirmation, and Corey nodded as he swallowed the last of his burrito as well.

 

“The Benns, Seguin, Ovi, Crosby, Biz, Hartnell….just the dudes we hang out with once in awhile. There might be at least one guy on each team who knows by now,” the goalie explained. “It’s really not as earth-shattering as you make it out to be, Tazer.”

 

“Right,” Brent nodded, “the fans or whatever might not be as accepting of gay hockey players, but the guys who matter – the guys in the league – they don’t really give a shit as long as you can still hit, take hits and play the game.”

 

Jonny was silent as he looked down at his empty salad bowl, and Patrick wished he could read minds in that moment because his captain’s face was giving absolutely nothing away. Patrick agreed with Brent and Corey that Jonny was blowing this thing out of proportion. Yes, Jonny is a role model and a leader, respected in the hockey community as well as in Winnipeg and Chicago, but he did not seem to understand that he could be all those things to the LGBTQ+ community as well. In fact, it seemed like Jonny considered his sexuality a curse, or at the very least, a burden. Something to hide so he did not rock the boat of perceived normality or suddenly become a pariah to the masses who loved and heaped worship on him. Patrick just did not understand why Jonny cared so much about what others thought of him, and if people wanted to be prejudiced, homophobic assholes, that was their problem. It shouldn’t fall on Jonny’s shoulders – and Patrick’s by association – as well. They had too much other shit to think about, like winning another Stanley Cup despite losing a fourth of their team to the salary cap and establishing hockey as a prominent sport in Chicago again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, Jonny! You are you so confusing!! Just be honest with everyone! 
> 
> What's going to happen with these two fools, as Corey so lovingly calls them? :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I cannot accurately express just how grateful I am for all of you. My heart is so overjoyed!
> 
> Please leave kudos and COMMENTS!!! I love to know what you all are thinking!


	16. You look like the songs that I've heard my whole life coming true....

Jonny was still so turned on from their previous naked swim, and he wasted no time once they arrived back at his house. Still firmly gripping Patrick’s hand, he said goodnight to Corey and Brent then lead the blonde up the stairs and into his bedroom. He barely had the door closed before they were both groping for each other, his larger body forcing Patrick’s back against the wall. The smaller man let out a quiet _oof_ , and Jonny’s mouth swallowed the sound, their lips locking in a passionate kiss. The captain gripped his winger’s chin, pushing his tongue into Patrick’s sweet, willing mouth, exploring as if to find a hidden treasure. Patrick moaned low in his throat, his arms going around Jonny’s waist to pull him close. Molding his front to Jonny’s: open, inviting him in without exception.

 

“Mmm, _Patrick_ ,” Jonny whispered against his lover’s skin, pressing hot kisses down his neck. He gently sunk his teeth into the juncture of Patrick’s neck and shoulder, then laving it with his tongue. Moaning, Patrick let his head fall back against the wall, allowing Jonny all the access he wanted, spearing his fingers through the brunette’s longish hair. When hockey season started again, this hair would be gone – buzzed short on the sides and cut close to his scalp – so Patrick was going to enjoy it while he could. “I want to fuck you this time, _mon cherie._ To feel you wrapped tight around me.”

 

“Oh god, Jonny, I want that too,” Patrick’s hands fisted in his captain’s hair. He let himself get lost in the feeling of Jonny’s wet tongue and warm mouth sampling his flesh as if they hadn’t just eaten a late, filling dinner. Every lick made his shorts more uncomfortable. Jonny’s hands found their way underneath his t-shirt, and Patrick groaned. Those hands so talented: soft when he needed to send the perfect pass to Patrick’s waiting blade, strong and agile enough to put the puck into the net from the hardest angle, steady as he diligently wrapped his sticks before each game, and now all those things as he smoothed his palms up the ridges of his winger’s compact body.

 

Patrick had all the same muscle tone as Jonny but in a smaller frame that was just so goddamn sexy! Jonny let him know by dragging his thumb up the American’s sternum, fingers splayed over his rib cage, until he reached those perky nipples that Patrick always tried to hide under tank tops and baggy shirts. Palms kneaded the pink buds into sensitive peaks. Patrick gasped as he felt the blood rush down between his thighs. He lifted his arms at Jonny’s urging as the Canadian lifted his shirt up and over his head. Brown eyes met the blonde’s blue, lusty, half-lidded gaze as Jonny’s hands returned to Patrick’s body. Fingers skimming over hard pecs, ripped abs, down the curve of his hips, then squeezing Patrick’s well-endowed backside filling his palms.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Jonny whispered, running his left index finger down his lover’s cheek before gripping his chin and pulling him in for another kiss, tongues licking and tangling, lips slanting and brushing against each other. Patrick worked Jonny’s shirt off him, sighing against the Canadian’s mouth, hands roaming all over that muscled, lanky body. Jonny slotted his knee between his lover’s thighs, nimble fingers undoing Patrick’s shorts before slipping his right hand inside. A soft, strangled noise came from Patrick’s throat when Jonny’s hand wrapped around his half-erect cock, thumb circling the smooth head. It wasn’t long before small drops of precum leaked from the slit, and Jonny pressed his crotch against the blonde’s thigh to let him know just how turned on he was.

 

“Fuck me, Jonny,” Patrick managed to pant out, tugging on his lover’s shorts. “Too many clothes. No fair.” They managed to get to the king-sized bed, groping, kissing, moving, bodies always touching in one form or another, and both men discarded their shorts along the way. Patrick laid on the bed, beckoning with his index finger and hooded blue eyes for Jonny to cover his body, licking those puffy red lips and looking like sex personified. He spread his knees and Jonny straddled his thighs, reaching down between their bodies to grip Patrick’s cock again. Thick, hard, leaking from the tip, beautiful. Jonny’s thumb spread the precum there, then he stroked.

 

Their eyes met as Jonny’s calloused hand moved along the hot, meaty flesh, squeezing and tugging his lover to oblivion. Patrick bit his bottom lip, gasping, moaning, fingers clutching his lover’s thighs. Heat coiled in his belly and the pressure between his legs was unbearable yet welcome at the same time as long as Jonny was here to quell it. Then Jonny had both their hard cocks in his palm, rubbing them together and rolling his hips to create delicious friction. Patrick arched his back, pushing into his captain’s hand, delirious with lust, needing.

 

Leaning in, Jonny nipped at the smaller man’s neck, taking the flesh between his teeth and soothing with his tongue. The sounds coming from Patrick’s sinful lips urging him on, going straight to his cock until he was unbelievably hard, but he wanted it to be as good for Patrick as it was for him. He kissed down heated skin until his tongue circled one of Patrick’s nipples before flicking at the pebbled pink flesh. Patrick keened, fingers spearing through his lover’s hair, on the cusp of what he needed, arcing into Jonny’s touch. He skimmed his fingers down Jonny’s long, muscular back until his palms were filled with that meaty, firm ass; squeezing, feeling the weight in his hands. Jonny dragged his lips back up to Patrick’s jaw, and the blonde turned his face for another deep, tongue-filled kiss before Jonny rolled him onto his stomach. Raising himself up onto his knees, Patrick braced his forearms on the mattress, moaning when Jonny’s hands spread his ass cheeks. Wet lips dropped softly to the base of his spine, gentle finger circling Patrick’s hole.

 

“Come on, Jonny,” the blonde begged, turning his head to look at his lover through those hazy bedroom eyes, long lashes fluttering. “Just fuck me…. _oooohhhh!_ ” He moaned out, mouth agape in a pretty red O when the brunette’s tongue laved over his puckered entrance; sinking his teeth into the sculpted yet fleshy curve of Patrick’s ass. Then Jonny was dipping the tip of his tongue into Patrick’s tight pink hole, opening him up. He had to shove his face into the mattress to stifle his long, low moan. Fingers clutched at the sheets just to have something to hold onto.

 

“Oh fuck, are you sure this is your first time doing this?” Patrick closed his eyes against the flames of pleasure licking and igniting every nerve in his body. Jonny’s tongue downright wicked as it plunged past the now-stretched rim, wet and hot but not nearly long or thick enough to truly satisfy his lust.

 

Jonny chuckled, “I’m sure, babe. You’re my first.” His lips brushed against Patrick’s fair skin, tongue fucking into his widened hole twice more just to make sure he was slick and ready. Then Jonny sat back on his haunches, reaching for a condom in the nightstand drawer and rolling it on. He gripped Patrick’s hips and pushed his hard cock into his lover’s hot ass. Patrick gasped at the sudden intrusion but his more experienced body adjusted quickly. Jonny was so turned on by the heat wrapped around his cock and the sounds escaping those puffy red lips that he could not wait or take it slow. He needed Patrick’s body squeezing around him, needed to relieve the pressure built up in his loins.

 

Crotch against ass, skin hitting skin as Jonny’s hips jackhammered, balls slapping against Patrick’s ass as he fucked him deep. Patrick whined, moans filled the room but he couldn’t tell if they were his or Jonny’s. Not that it mattered, though, with Jonny’s long cock hitting against his prostate, forcing Patrick deeper into the mattress, sending tiny explosions through his entire being, erupting behind his eyes. Patrick shuddered as he came all over the bed sheets. Jonny pounding into him and pushing his now-softening cock against the cotton sheets prolonged the fireworks going off inside him. Several more deep body-shaking thrusts then Jonny pulled out.

 

“Roll over, baby,” he lightly smacked Patrick’s backside, shifting and pulling off the condom, then straddling the blonde’s hips once he was on his back.

 

“Yeah, come for me,” Patrick urged, running his hands up and down Jonny’s chest and abs. “Come for me, baby. _God_ , you’re so hot, Jonny.” The brunette squeezed and jerked his own cock, listening to his lover’s raspy voice until he came with a shout. Jonny swore in French as he spewed milky cum all over Patrick’s chest and stomach. Shaking with his release, Jonny squeezed every last drop from the tip. Patrick caught his gaze, made sure Jonny was watching him gather some of the white liquid onto his index finger and bringing it to his mouth. Red, swollen lips closed over his finger, jaw and throat working as he sucked Jonny’s cum from his skin and swallowed it down, licking his lips and looking up at his lover through his lashes. Jonny couldn’t look away from that shiny, sinful mouth.

 

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy,” Jonny growled, leaning his body down onto Patrick’s, “and a fucking tease.”

 

“But you love it,” Patrick lifted his chin and Jonny got the hint; lips met, wet and sweet, tongues licking into each other’s mouths, languid, as if they had all the time in the world. In the moment, it seemed as if they did; like the season was not three weeks away and they didn’t have to be back in Chicago in a few short days for training camp. It felt like they didn’t have to be careful what they said or how they acted because TV cameras were probably everywhere. It was just the two of them, Patrick and Jonny, wrapped up in each other in their own cozy world.

 

“I do. I love _you_ , Patrick,” Jonny’s hands pushed the tousled sweaty curls back against Patrick’s scalp.

 

The blonde smiled that shy lift of his lips Jonny found so endearing, exposing the slight gap between his front teeth, dimples cratering his cheeks, “I love you too, Jonny. But I’d love you more if you would clean your jizz off of me.”

 

“Oh shit, sorry, I’ll be right back,” Jonny pecked a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, scrambling off the bed and heading for the bathroom. He picked the used condom up off the floor on the way. Patrick enjoyed watching that round naked ass as he went. Moments later, Jonny returned with a warm wash rag and wiped the dried, sticky cum off Patrick’s torso.

 

Thoroughly fucked and blissful, Patrick curled around Jonny, legs tangled, an arm thrown across the larger man’s body, blonde head on his chest. He felt Jonny’s rapid breathing and accelerated heart beat as they let the sweat cool their bodies. Content to bask in the sweetness of their afterglow. Jonny lightly stroked his fingers up and down his lover’s back and upper arm, and it was not long before both drifted off to sleep.

 

At some point in the night – or early morning, rather – they shifted so that Patrick was spooned against Jonny, back to chest, legs intertwined and Jonny’s arm possessive around Patrick’s body. One of them had also pulled the sheet over their lower bodies, but when Jonny woke up to the sunlight streaming hot through his bedroom windows he immediately kicked the sheet off. He had no clue what time it was and no motivation to leave the comfort of his big bed with Patrick sleeping in his arms.

 

Judging by the height of the sun in the sky and the head radiating through the glass panes, he guessed it was about noon. With the warm, naked, sleeping blonde pressed up against his own naked body, it did not matter that Jonny had not had a proper morning workout in over a week or that the day was half over and he had accomplished nothing so far. Training camp was a week away. Usually, this was the time he would start getting back into hockey shape and his hockey season routine. Looking down at the curly-haired head on his pillow, that baby-face peaceful in sleep, long lashes fanned across the smooth curve of Patrick’s cheek, Jonny decided everything else could wait one more day.

 

With his half-hard cock pushing against the American’s firm, tragically underappreciated hockey ass, Jonny leaned in to place a whisper of a kiss on Patrick’s temple before pressing his lips on his shoulder. The winger stirred and sighed, moving slightly in his captain’s embrace, but did not wake up. A swell of pride filled Jonny that he was able to wear the guy out. Patrick always seemed to have enough energy to light up the entire province of Manitoba. When Jonny had enough of looking, he raised himself up on one elbow over the sleeping man and nuzzled his lips into the blonde curls. He placed soft kisses down Patrick’s cheek and molded his lower body to his lover’s backside. Morning wood poking into the small of his back caused Patrick to rouse from his slumber, eyelids fluttering.

 

“ _Bonjour, mon cheri_ ,” Jonny hooked his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, sing-songing into his ear.

 

“Mornin’,” Patrick’s voice was low and scratchy with sleep. A thrill ran through Jonny’s core at the sexy sound. “The fuck are you doing awake before me?”

 

Jonny grinned, for once not the grumpy one, “My body is already in pre-training camp mode.”

 

“Well, you can go run ten miles or whatever the hell crazy cardio you do. I’m just gonna stay here,” Patrick yawned and snuggled deeper into the pillow.

 

“It’s midday, _mon amour_.”

 

Patrick groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes just slits as they adjusted to the light, “I’m ready to get back to playing hockey, but I’m not looking forward to having cameras shoved in my face all the time.”

 

“I know,” Jonny agreed, propping himself on his side with one elbow while his other hand drew lazy shapes onto Patrick’s torso. “It’s gonna be worse now too because we’re Stanley Cup champions.”

 

“Why does that feel more like a punishment where the media is concerned?” Patrick mumbled.

 

“It’s the way it is, babe. We chose to play in the NHL, and with it come perks as well as unwanted attention. We knew that.”

 

“Ugh! Get outta here with your fuckin’ hippie logic and just let me hate the invasion of privacy,” Patrick shoved at Jonny’s chest and rolled his eyes. Jonny chuckled, kissing him on the corner of his mouth before sitting up.

 

“Wanna shower with me?” Jonny lowered his eyelids flirtatiously, smirking down at Patrick.

 

“Are you asking because you want to conserve water, or because you think you’ll get lucky?”

 

“Just get your cute ass in the shower, Peeks!”

 

Laughing, Patrick scrambled out of bed. Jonny swatted his ass playfully on their way to the bathroom. They did manage to actually wash each other. Then ended up back in bed, this time with Patrick between Jonny’s knees, sucking him off. Spurred on by Jonny’s stuttering moans, filthy praise and hands grabbing at his hair, Patrick took as much of his lover’s long cock into his mouth as he could; stroking in his palm what did not fit. His lips and tongue brought Jonny to the edge of bliss, sucking, bobbing, laving, big blue eyes looking up into his lover’s handsome, ruddy face. The ecstasy and carnal lust in Jonny’s dark eyes, written all over his features, was all Patrick’s doing. That was enough to make him hard, but he didn’t want to get himself off.

 

Patrick reached for Jonny’s wrist, pulling that long arm down so Jonny could put his hand around Patrick’s leaking cock. The captain got the hint, wrapping his big palm like a vice around his winger’s cock and jerking him hard. Patrick’s moans vibrated around the sensitized cock in his mouth. Jonny’s hips bucked, forcing the tip to hit Patrick’s gag reflex. The blonde swallowed around the flesh, and Jonny came; spewing milky cum down Patrick’s throat, gasping out dirty talk in French. He tasted sweet, and Patrick vowed to never again make fun of him for drinking all those fruit smoothies. A few more pumps and Jonny’s hand was filled with Patrick’s cum.

 

“Oh fuck,” Patrick whispered through his scratchy throat, resting his head on his lover’s gigantic thigh as he floated back to earth. “Does this count as a pre-season workout?”

 

Jonny chuckled, carding his fingers through blonde curls as they both recovered, “Sadly, I don’t think so, _mon cheri_.”

 

“I think everyone would be healthier if it were.”

 

“You’re probably right, babe. Mmmm, if only sex could cure the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU for reading and sticking with me on this story. I apologize for the slow updating, but life is crazy and it feels like there's a thousand different ideas going through my head that need to be given some attention to. So, here we are. 
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS! How do you feel about Jonny? About Patrick? Their relationship? Do you think their relationship will survive? I very much appreciate knowing your thoughts, concerns, constructive criticisms. Thank you :)
> 
> XOXO


	17. Say anything, but say what you mean because I'm caught in suspension....

Lazy summer days in Winnipeg gave way to the frantic pace of city life and a new hockey season as soon as the airplane landed in Chicago. Patrick and Jonny flew into O’Hare International Airport a day later than Seabs and Crow. Training camp started at nine the next morning, so they decided to sleep at their own places: Patrick in his Trump Tower apartment and Jonny in his Lakeshore condo. Jonny’s parents were looking after Julia up in Winnipeg. Patrick’s parents and at least one of his sisters were coming down for a visit and to bring some of Patrick’s clothes and a couple things he had left in Buffalo over the summer. He kind of felt bad that he did not go home to see his whole family one last time before flying back to Chicago, but he was pretty sure they understood. Being at Jonny’s had been a much needed break as well as the catalyst he and Jonny needed to progress in their relationship.

 

The first team practice was as normal as could be; skating again with old teammates and figuring out how to play with the newbies. One of the rookies, Ben Smith, attached himself to Jonny, trying to emulate and learn from him. He had tons of raw talent, but definitely needed to work on his skating. So Jonny took the rookie under his wing, working with him for passing drills, skating and agility, endurance. Patrick, then, practiced mostly with Sharpy, which was fine. It really was. Besides, Patrick knew that once the season started, he and Jonny would be playing on the same line like always, with the same electrifying chemistry. So if Jonny wanted to help out some of the new guys while they were here, who was Patrick to stand in the way? Jonny _was_ the captain, after all; it was in his job description to play Papa Bear to the young guns.

 

Patrick just did not like how Jonny seemed to be avoiding him, and the way this Ben kid (ok, he was actually a few months _older_ than Patrick, but definitely greener) looked at Jonny and worshipped the ice he skated on. Maybe he would feel more secure if he and Jonny actually spent time with each other outside of practice. They had gone out once when Patrick’s parents and Jess were visiting during their first week back in Chicago. Donna Kane had insisted they go out as a family, and Jonny was dating their son so he qualified as “part of the family”. Patrick got the sense that Jonny had reluctantly agreed; probably because he already knew Donna was not going to take no for an answer.

 

The five of them had decided to go out to a new Japanese grill and sushi place downtown and had a great time that night. Jonny laughed politely as Pat Sr.’s terrible jokes, he engaged Jess in conversation and seemed genuinely interested in her school and art. By the time dinner was served, Donna was regaling him with stories of Patrick as a kid, being forced to play dolls with his sisters so they would play hockey with him later. That dinged-up wall in their basement that did not stand a chance against all the pucks that had been lobbed at it over the years. Stories Jonny had most certainly heard before, but he smiled and chuckled at the appropriate times, every so often looking over at Patrick with those gleaming, mirth-filled dark eyes. But Jonny never touched him; never took his hand. Not even a brush of his hand on the small of Patrick’s back when he held the door for everyone like a gentleman. Even Patrick’s parents and sister seemed mystified by Jonny’s sudden ability to keep his hands to himself, especially now that they were supposedly _dating_. Or, at least, Patrick thought they were. Nothing had been made official and Jonny never used the term ‘boyfriend’, but Patrick was thinking the happenings in Winnipeg kinda spoke for itself.

 

After dinner, filled up on sushi and _yakitori_ , Jess had suggested they walk along Navy Pier and the lakeshore. The city at night was enchanting: skyscrapers lit up against the dark sky, silver moon casting reflective light over the surface of the lake, streets abuzz with activity as the night life crowd rolled in. Navy Pier was a spectacle of moving colored lights, the Ferris wheel like a distracting beacon to anyone passing by. Busy, filled with man-made light; a vast change from the quiet, natural serenity of Jonny’s home in Winnipeg. Patrick liked both.

 

Donna and Pat Sr. walked with their arms around each other’s waists, sides pressed together. So instinctive and easy after nearly 30 years of marriage. Patrick had thought, maybe under the cover of night and with the Pier being mostly devoid of people, he could close the gap between himself and his boyfriend. Jess had been walking on Patrick’s other side and Jonny had the lake on his, so it’s not like they were in full view of prying eyes. In fact, after only a few pictures with Blackhawks fans that had recognized them in the restaurant, they had been left alone all evening. Patrick reached out to take Jonny’s hand, casual, discreet, but Jonny immediately drew his hand away as if he had been burned. He stuffed both hands into the pockets of his dress pants. Patrick glanced over at him, but Jonny kept his stoic face forward, continuing to join in the conversation with Donna and Pat Sr. like he hadn’t just chipped a piece from Patrick’s heart.

 

There had not even been a quick goodnight kiss in the privacy of Jonny’s car once they got back to where he had parked at Patrick’s place. Just a “see you at practice” before he closed the car door and drove off. Patrick had frowned on the elevator ride up to his apartment, wondering what he had done in the few short days since their last glorious fuck in Winnipeg until now to make his boyfriend suddenly so cold. Jonny was always with Ben at practice, and when Patrick texted him to hang out afterwards, Jonny claimed to be tired or he had a meeting with Coach Q.

 

“Does Jonny know you’re dating?” Jess had blurted as soon as Patrick walked in the door.

 

“Jessica!” Pat Sr. warned, but Patrick knew it was her way of showing she cared, as peculiar as it was.

 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Donna knew her son’s dejected face on the verge of tears.

 

“Well, I mean, to be fair, we didn’t make anything official. We just didn’t talk about it, you know?” Patrick had looked from his mom’s concerned face to his dad’s, and suddenly he was unable to shut up. “He cares too much about what people think of him, the media, the fans. He’s so paranoid, too, like we have to constantly be on the lookout for cameras or reporters, and he seems to think being a gay hockey player is some kind of career-ruining life sentence. I don’t get it! Why should it matter, you know? It shouldn’t be a big deal. Like, so what, I’m a dude, I’m a hockey player and I’m attracted to dudes….well, to one in particular. But being gay doesn’t have any bearing on my hockey skills or my worth as a human being; it’s just _one_ part of me. Why the hell is he so fucking _scared_ of himself? Sorry for swearing.”

 

“This is new to him, Buzz. Jonny hasn’t been as….aware of his sexuality as long as you have. Besides that, it is realistic to except discrimination. You know that, Buzz. As tragic as it is, there are still people who hate you for your sexuality, and he knows that too,” Pat Sr. had remained the calm voice of reason. “I think he wants to same thing as you, but he doesn’t quite know how to….explain himself. Think about it, Buzz. As captain of the team, he has to answer absolutely ridiculous media questions regarding himself, you, the team while remaining composed and polite, and I think he just doesn’t want to give them more fuel to pry into his personal life. He wants them to focus on the hockey too, _not_ his relationship with you.”

 

“You have to decide what you want though, sweetie,” Donna had chimed in, hugging her son. “If Jonny can’t be who you need, then you might not be who he needs either. Not to say you can’t be that for each other some time down the road, especially if you have strong feelings for each other…and I’m not a fool. I know what you two did in Winnipeg. But it’s okay to put whatever this is on hold for the sake of your careers and your sanity.”

 

“Just send him to me,” Jess had bumped his side with her shoulder. “I’ll straighten him out.”

 

After settling into bed that night, Patrick had checked his phone, finding a text message from Jonny: _Hey. Sorry I was kinda weird tonight. Just tired and stressed about season start. I’ll talk to you about it later. Have fun with your family tomorrow. See ya at practice. Good night._ He had also added the kiss-face emoji. Patrick smiled, responding with: _Yep, we’ll talk, dood. Take it easy tomorrow, eh? Luv u. G’night._ Heart emoji.

*************

They did talk….well, Jonny mostly. He explained how it felt like the weight of his captaincy would crush him and the overwhelming responsibility he always carried with him. He talked about how he knew he needed to be a role model, but he hated the constant scrutiny from their coaches, the media, the fans. Sometimes he just wanted to be able to do and live the way he wanted. And, like, yeah, Patrick could relate. Jonny apologized for making Patrick feel ignored these past couple weeks, and he swore he would be better.

 

Patrick listened, his eyes straying to that scar at the corner of Jonny’s mouth and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple in his long neck as he spoke. The scars moved with him like odd little expressions of emotion on his otherwise stoic face, stretching when he smiled or dimpling with his frown. Jonny probably could be a model if not for his love of hockey and those imperfections on his face, but Patrick thought he was beautiful because he wore the permanent evidence of his hard work and love for his job, for the greatest game in the world. How he bit the inside of his cheek and averted his eyes when he was jittery or thinking; how those dark, dark eyes could stare right through Patrick and seemingly know everything he was feeling.

 

Pretty soon, they were making out on Jonny’s couch, Patrick straddling Jonny’s lap as their hands and mouths roamed each other’s faces and necks. They kissed until their lips were swollen and chapped, and Jonny sucked a hickey into the blonde’s collarbone. Then Patrick said good night, extricating himself from Jonny’s warm embrace before they were both past the point of no return. Their relationship was far from stable, and both men needed to think with the heads on their shoulders, not in their pants.

 

“Stay,” Jonny whined, spreading his legs for Patrick to see his obvious boner.

 

“I need to go,” Patrick shook his head, but his eyes were soft and apologetic looking down at the brunette. “We both have to be to the gym early tomorrow, and we need to just….figure this out. Maybe slow down a little bit. Walk me to the door?”

 

Jonny frowned but stood up from the couch, taking Patrick’s hand for the short distance to the door. After slipping on his untied tennis shoes, Patrick found himself being pulled back in by Jonny for another slow, gentle wet kiss. His eyes fluttered shut. Both men sighed into each other’s mouths, not wanting to let the other one go. Jonny’s arms wrapped around Patrick’s waist, and the shorter man tilted up onto his toes to put all he had into the languid kiss. Wanting Jonny to know he would rather stay the night but knowing it would not be wise.

 

“Okay, okay, for real, I have to go, Jonny,” Patrick pushed at the taller man’s broad chest, forcing space between them and effectively breaking the kiss. Jonny’s dark, unblinking eyes were soft and fond gazing at Patrick, the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly.

 

He reached out to touch Patrick’s cheek, “Night, baby. See you tomorrow.”

*************

Standing in the face-off dot with his team, watching the Stanley Cup banner being raised to the rafters of the United Center was almost as magical as winning the Cup just four months earlier. That night in Philly played through Patrick’s mind as he tipped his neck back to watch the banner’s ascent; the close, intense game, the fire in his gut in those final minutes when the team needed to break the tie and it just wasn’t happening, then those few seconds after Patrick shot the puck at the net and seemed to be the only one besides the goalie who knew it had gone in. He had been cellying, shaking off his gloves and ready to leap into Niemi’s arms while fans and official alike were still trying to find the puck in the back of the net.

 

Now, Patrick glanced at Jonny beside him, standing tall and regal like a captain should, a smile playing at his lips as he too tilted his head back to see the 2010 Stanley Cup Champions banner fit into place beside the one from 1961: the last time the Blackhawks had won the Cup. This was a new team, a new era, and Jonny’s promise from Patrick’s rookie year had come to fruition. _You and me, Patrick, we’re gonna bring hockey back to this city. We’re going to make history, baby. You and me._ They had. Patrick grinned, wondering if Jonny was remembering too.

 

Jonny put his arm around Patrick’s shoulders, leaning in to whisper, “We did it, Peeks. We’re gonna be legendary.” His breath was hot against Patrick’s ear, but the winger shivered at the thrill of being here, a Stanley Cup champion for the fucking Chicago Blackhawks. The best part is doing all of this with Jonny and this group of guys. Sharpy slung his arm around Patrick’s neck on the other side, ruffling a palm through the curls at Patrick’s neck.

 

“Almost as good as the Cup, eh?” Sharpy remarked, reaching across to clap his captain’s shoulder. “We’ve got work to do now, though. Let’s go show ‘em what we’re made of, boys!”

 

Despite Sharpy’s battle cry, the Blackhawks lost their home opener to the Detroit Red Wings, but the team was not going to let it put much of a damper on the happy beginning to their night. The season was still very young. They had plenty of time to turn it around. Some of the guys decided to go out to Murphy’s bar after the game. By the time Jonny and Patrick finished giving obligatory post-game interviews, showering and changing back into their street clothes, Crow, Seabs, Soupy, Frolik, Krugs and Leddy were already at the bar. Seabs waved the captain and winger over to their long, high-top table in the back of the room. They were already sharing the biggest plate of nachos Patrick had ever seen and probably all of them were a beer in. A couple of the more sober patrons recognized the famous hockey players, so Patrick and Jonny stopped to shake hands and take a couple pictures before joining their friends.

 

“You gotta get your own drinks,” Brent explained, making room by moving his chair closer to his boyfriend at the head of the table. “We weren’t sure what you two would want.”

 

“That’s fine,” Patrick shrugged, feeling Jonny come up behind him, pressing a hand to his back while squeezing by to go to the other side of the table. Jonny greeted Krugs, Leddy and Soupy with high fives before taking the last empty seat beside Krugs on that side of the table. Patrick sat down between Brent and Frolik, across from Soupy, and almost at the complete opposite end from Jonny.

 

“I can move if you two want to sit together,” Frolik offered. “I don’t want to be the one to break up the dynamic duo.” He was joking, of course, because none of the team except Corey, Brent and Sharpy knew about Jonny and Patrick’s extracurricular activities off the ice. Patrick glanced over to see Jonny oblivious, already engaged in conversation and laughing with Leddy and Krugs.

 

“Naw, it’s fine,” Patrick hoped it came across as light-hearted. “I’m sick of him anyway. Fucking puck hog tonight.” He was grinning though, so Frolik chuckled. Jonny did pass less than usual during tonight’s game, but in his defense Patrick was usually surrounded by two or three of Detroit’s biggest defenders. They just couldn’t seem to get anything going, and when they did Detroit seemed to outmaneuver them or get the drop on the face-off. It was a bad game, which they expected to have once in awhile. Might as well get them out of the way early in the season. The team was also trying to pick up the pieces of the salary cap that left the core intact but every other position in shambles. They were still working on cohesion and how to play with all the new guys. Patrick hoped the learning curve was steep because they were going to go from Stanley Cup champs to laughing stock if they did not figure out how to score soon. Tonight was not a time to worry about that. He was supposed to be getting to know his teammates – Krugs, Leddy and Frolik were new – and having a good time with his friends.

 

Conversation shifted from small talk to business when Leddy inquired of Jonny how to make Coach Q actually smile behind the bench. The veterans laughed, Jonny grinning as he explained that was just Coach Q’s game face. He frowned when the team was playing well and looked two second away from a heart attack when they were doing poorly. The guys talked about what was good about their recent game, what could be better, and Patrick watched Seabs and Crow. He paid attention to how the two interacted in public among fans and potential prying eyes. Neither of them were much into PDA, but they still ended up in each other’s space.

 

Of course, they were sitting next to teach other, Corey more interested in the nachos than offering anything to the discussion. Every so often, though, he leaned into Brent’s side or smiled at his boyfriend, and Brent touched Corey’s hand or arm occasionally. Sometimes their elbows would bump on the table, and Patrick was almost certain it was not accidental. So easy and casual, and no one else in the bar seemed to give a damn that these two professional hockey players were so into each other. Jonny did not make a move to even _try_ and sit beside Patrick.

 

“I’m gonna get something to drink. You want anything, Jonny?” Patrick suddenly felt claustrophobic. He needed to move, to get away from Corey and Brent and their adoring eyes for each other.

 

Jonny jerked his head around to look at Patrick as he chomped on a chip, “Mm-mm. I’m good. Thanks though.”

 

It was late and the bar half-empty so Patrick did not have to wait too long for someone to take his order. The bartender looked vaguely familiar and he seemed to recognize Patrick.

 

“Hey, no-frills!” Oh yeah. The guys from their Stanley Cup victory pub crawl. Mr. Condescending. “Tough loss tonight, eh? What can I get for you?”

 

Patrick could not tell of the guy was being apologetic or sarcastic. “Just a Bud Light, please.”

 

“Yeah, sure thing, man,” the bartender grabbed a bottle from the ice bucket under the bar and popped off the top.

 

“What, you’re not gonna make fun of my drink choice tonight?” Patrick asked after the guy slid his beer to him. “You watch the game tonight or just want to rub my face in it?” The bartender grinned and he was….actually kinda cute.

 

“Nope. I’m man enough to admit that I was a presumptuous prick that night. Look, I’m sorry I for being a bitch last time. I was having a bad night, ya know? And then having this sudden influx of macho man hockey players who were probably gonna wrack up a tab and leave me to clean up the mess just made it even shittier. But you guys weren’t too bad and I got, like, a big enough tip to be able to pay my rent for two months. So thanks.” The guy grinned, running a hand through his hair as he stood across from Patrick, leaning against the bar. Patrick had his elbows on the bar as he took a swig from the bottle. Their faces were close together, a necessity to be able to hear over the music and cacophony of talking and clinking glasses all around them.

 

“See, we’re not all that bad,” Patrick couldn’t resist teasing and smirking right back. This guy was _definitely_ cute – dark, thick hair disheveled from work and sweat and him probably running his hands through it a time or two, a round face that softened his strong facial bone structure, lively gray-blue eyes that looked _at_ Patrick but did not stare through him. He was built a lot like Jonny; tall and solid, muscle moving under the skin of his arms as he wiped off the counter. Patrick had also noticed how his biceps flexed when he had taken the cap off the beer bottle without using an opener. “So did you watch the game?”

 

“We had it on pretty much all the TVs in here so I caught pieces here and there. I’m trying to like your violent sport.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, ever since this annoying little blue-eyed blonde hockey player walked into my bar and ordered a draft beer, I’ve been slightly intrigued. But I’m a baseball guy.”

 

“Baseball! Oh my god, man, it’s so fucking slow! You could, like, make a sandwich and do a load of laundry in the time it takes one guy to bat.”

 

Cute bartender laughed at that, a full-bodied sound, head thrown back, and Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle too.

 

“It’s much more civilized. Hockey looks like a bunch of grown men who don’t know they’re grown men slicing at each other with sticks while trying to stay upright on their knife shoes. I mean, is there any thinking involved or you just ram each other into the wall and whichever team is less injured usually ends up winning?”

 

Patrick did laugh at that, taking another swallow of his beer before responding, “It takes a little more than that. You should come to a game sometime and I’ll show you what it takes.”

 

The guy’s grin got even wider and brighter, “Maybe I will. Sometime. My name is Keaton, by the way.”

 

“Patrick. But you already knew that.”

 

“Nice to see you again, Patrick,” Cute bartender – Keaton – winked and took Patrick’s money to pay for the beer.

 

“Same to you. Keep the change. I’ll see you around, Keaton,” Patrick’s mouth lifted at the corner again, making brief eye contact as he turned and walked back to his friends without a backwards glance.

 

“Do you know that guy?” Jonny’s eyes narrowed immediately upon Patrick’s arrival back at the table.

 

“Not really,” Patrick shrugged, drinking his beer. “We kind of met the night of the pub crawl so he recognized me.” He felt those suspicious eyes following his movements back to his chair. In fact, Jonny’s dark, blank stare hardly left him all night, face pulled down in a frown. That was probably the most attention, negative or otherwise, he had given Patrick in public since they got back into Chicago. He didn’t know what Jonny’s problem was, but he did not linger on it too long either. Rather, as he laughed and talked with his teammates for the remainder of the night, his mind strayed to a pair of teasing grey-blue eyes set in a face filled with mirth.

 

“There’s no game or morning skate tomorrow….or today. Wanna come over?” Jonny nudged Patrick as they walked out of the bar. Patrick looked around for Keaton but did not see him so he turned his attention to the man next to him. His heart skipped when Jonny’s arm casually crooked around his neck on the way to their cars. The young guys said goodbye as they went in the opposite direction. Seabs and Crow held hands, walking alongside Jonny and Patrick but in their own world.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick nodded.

 

Twenty minutes later, he was lying on the couch, Jonny on top of him. Apparently, this was their thing now. They couldn’t just talk and hangout anymore without making out, but in Patrick’s defense this time he _was_ a bit tipsy. And Jonny’s lean, muscular body felt nice weighing him down, his kisses filling a void, a need for physical contact, that Patrick felt deep in his bones. It was so intense he hurt, and being under Jonny was like the salve to soothe the pain. He wondered if the feeling was mutual, but then Jonny’s lips were on that sensitive spot under Patrick’s ear, sucking a mark there. Hot breath, wet tongue, hands in his hair, it seemed Jonny was everywhere, surrounding him. Patrick closed his eyes, moaning, letting his captain take. Giving in. He might be a little more drunk this time. Less inhibited and definitely needy. When Jonny’s eager hand slid up under his shirt, palm skimming up his abs, Patrick sighed and lifted his face to find Jonny’s mouth again. The captain’s skin touching his was just too damn good. Jonny squeezed Patrick’s pecs then massaged them in his palms, running his thumb lightly across those perky nipples. Patrick shivered.

 

“ _Gosh_ , I love your body, Peeks,” Jonny’s raspy voice sounded lusty in Patrick’s ear. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down Patrick’s neck, nipped at his strong jaw. The blonde raised his arms, easy, for Jonny to slide his shirt off over his head before settling his hands back at the brunette’s waist. “It makes me so fucking hard to watch you on the ice. Like fucking poetry, the things you do. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first period when you took my pass and deked through three Red Wings to get a shot.”

 

Patrick grinned, tugging at the hem of Jonny’s t-shirt, “You’re so weird, Jonny, but goddammit if that wasn’t the sweetest thing I’ve heard since Winnipeg.”

 

“I’m fucking romantic,” Jonny smirked down at him, pecking a kiss to Patrick’s dimple.

 

“You’re fucking _something_ ,” Patrick agreed, a challenge in his expression. “You gonna fuck _me_ now?”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Jonny’s smile was so bright Patrick squinted under the sheer brilliance of it. There was nothing slow or gentle about the way Jonny pushed his hips into Patrick’s, grinding their still-clothed semi hard-ons together. Pleasurably painful in their want. Both men groaned. Then Jonny pulled away. Patrick protested the loss of his lover’s weight on top of him with incoherent whines.

 

“Pants off, baby, be right back.” Patrick watched his lover’s plump ass scamper in the direction of the half-bath. By the time his jeans and boxers were on the floor, Jonny appeared again, buck naked, a condom wrapper hanging out of his mouth. _What a dork_ , Patrick thought fondly, but took the condom from his lover’s lips and opened it as Jonny straddled his hips again on the wide couch. He leaned over Patrick’s body to capture his lips, and Patrick rolled the condom on Jonny’s now fully erect cock before relaxing back to get lost in their kisses.

 

But then he felt the tip of Jonny’s cock poking at his entrance. He gasped, bringing his knees up to this chest, opening fully for his lover. Jonny breached the puckered flesh, pushing slowly into Patrick’s unprepared hole, marveling at how it stretched and how Patrick arched his back and moaned. With his hands in the bend of his knees holding his legs widespread, Patrick could do nothing but buck his hips, urging Jonny on. And he did not disappoint; both men on the cusp of satisfaction.

 

Once fully seated inside Patrick’s body, Jonny pulled out only to plunge in again, not waiting for the winger’s body to properly adjust. Patrick cried out, wrapping his legs around his lover’s undulating hips, fingers now grappling at Jonny’s arms, chest, shoulders, anywhere he could reach. Jonny gripped his lover’s thighs, keeping Patrick’s legs apart as he fucked into him. Every savage thrust shaking Patrick’s body and forcing him deeper into the couch. Half-lidded blue eyes looked up into intense shark eyes. Jonny set a frantic rhythm. Moaning loud when Jonny’s cock slammed into that sensitive spot deep inside his body again and again, Patrick reached between their bodies to grip his own cock. A few quick jerks with his fist and he came all over his stomach and abs. Once last plunge had Jonny coming with a shuddering groan.

 

Patrick wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, pulling Jonny’s face down into a lingering kiss. Rolling his hips languidly to drag out Jonny’s orgasm until he was spent. Jonny pulled his softening cock from Patrick’s body, smearing cum over his lover’s nipples then leaning down to take the hard peaks into his mouth. His wide tongue sponged at the pink flesh, tasting Patrick’s essence mixed with salty skin, licking the cum from one nipple before giving the same treatment to the other. Hands ran through Jonny’s short hair as his tongue and lips moved down Patrick’s torso, cleaning up the mess he had left there. Jonny moaned at the bittersweet flavor of his lover; like coffee and sugar. An acquired taste for sure, but definitely one he had.

 

“Mmm, if this is what it’s like after every loss, I’d be okay not winning a game this season,” Patrick rumbled, nails gently scratching at Jonny’s sweaty scalp.

 

The captain’s head snapped up, glare settled on the other man’s face, but there was no malice in it. He pinched Patrick’s side. “You shut your damn mouth.”

 

Patrick giggled, palms smoothing down the back of Jonny’s head, to his neck, over his shoulders and back, “Relax, Captain Serious, I was kidding. Besides, just imagine what I’d do to _you_ after a win.”

 

“Motivation,” Jonny snickered, tugging on Patrick’s earlobe with his teeth before capturing those juicy lips again. This kiss was wet and lazy; tongues licking into each other’s mouths, Patrick sucking on Jonny’s bottom lip. He pulled back, swatting Jonny’s enormous ass before grabbing a handful.

 

“Let me up. I need a shower,” Patrick pushed Jonny off him and stood up slowly so as not to damage his aching muscles even more. Between hockey and rigorous couch sex, his legs and hips would be screaming tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lovely readers, thanks so much for sticking with me. I'm so sorry about the slow updates. Life has been hectic and writer's block is the worst! Hope y'all enjoy the chapter. Please comment and leave kudos! Thank you!!


	18. I'm feeling unwanted; that's not what I wanted....

“Hey, Kaner!”

 

Patrick turned in the direction of the familiar voice as he skated over to the water bottles lined up on the wall. Sharpy crashed into the space beside him, knocking a couple bottles over into the bench, but he just leaned on the half-wall, smirking.

 

“What’s up, Sharpy?” Patrick squeezed some water into his mouth, swishing it around before swallowing.

 

“So what are you and Captain Serious dressing up as for the Halloween party?” Sharpy shook his luscious hair back, sweat spraying everywhere.

 

“He doesn’t know this yet, but I was thinking we could be Penhall and Hanson from 21 Jump Street. I’ve already got the leather jacket, hair and good looks for Jonny Depp’s Hanson, and it’s not too hard to find a jean jacket or something for Peter DeLuise’s Penhall. We’ll be the best-looking couple there,” Patrick grinned, feeling happier than he had in weeks. He was hoping the Halloween party would be an opportunity for him and Jonny to finally come out to their entire team in a non-threatening environment.

 

“Besides Abby and me, of course. You do know that Penhall and Hanson aren’t actually gay, right?”

 

“Fuck you, man, not everything has to be gay,” Patrick shoved his best friend’s shoulder, throwing the older man off-balance on his skates.

 

Sharpy laughed, grabbing the half-wall to stay upright, “I was hoping for something less subtle. Like Bert and Ernie or Pooh and Piglet.”

 

“Shut _up_.” Patrick was chuckling, though. “God, what does Abby even see in you? And you’re going to be a father?”

 

Sharpy just smiled wider, his hazel eyes lighting up at the mention of his wife and unborn child, “I can’t wait, dude. And you better believe that kid will know that Bert and Ernie are so gay for each other and that’s completely okay. He or she is also gonna know their Uncle Peekaboo likes men and is the best damn hockey player in the world.”

 

“Thanks, man. What are you and Abby going as?”

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, Peeks.”

 

The whistle blew and their break was over. Sharpy skated off to practice backcheck drills while Patrick went to the other end of the rink to work on face-offs with Jonny. He liked this part of practices because he had Jonny all to himself, but they could also be competitive with each other. The team was practicing for their game against Dallas the next night. Coach Q had a couple new plays he wanted the top lines to learn before facing the Stars’ underrated wunderkind of a captain, Jamie Benn and goal-scoring veteran Brendan Morrow. He was hoping to move Patrick to forward, which meant the right winger needed to be faster on the draw in the face-off circle. As one of the best in the league, Jonny was a great teacher, and whenever Patrick beat him to the puck he was never satisfied. Patrick would shoot him a smug smile, and Jonny would just frown and reset.

 

Three weeks into the season, the Blackhawks were not doing the best job defending their Stanley Cup Champion title. They were sitting on a losing record at the moment, but a win against Dallas would tie their wins and losses and be a huge confidence boost. Patrick did not know how the other guys felt, but he knew he was distracted. It was not easy leaving his personal life at home when the source of distraction was at work with him every day. He could not figure out what Jonny wanted or what they were to each other, and he was sure as hell not going to ask. Most of the time, they were friends and teammates just like they have been for three years. Sometimes they were lovers, but never in public. During the Blackhawks’ three-game road trip earlier in the month, Patrick had been surprised when Jonny pulled him into his hotel room after that first game. A win against the Capitals, and only their second of six games played, apparently made Jonny horny. They had not slept with each other since that night the Red Wings had been in town, but not for lack of trying on Patrick’s part.

 

He had invited Jonny over to his place on a rare Sunday night off to watch football, but Jonny turned him down. He had claimed he was busy. Doing what, Patrick had no clue. It’s not like Jonny had friends in Chicago outside of the team, and if they were hanging out Patrick would have been invited too. He had not mentioned that his Canadian friends were going to be in town either. But whatever. Trying not to come off as clingy or jealous, Patrick had just accepted the vague answer and watched the Bills game alone.

 

In his hotel room, with Patrick backed up against the wall, Jonny had pressed his body in and repeated Patrick’s words back to him about what he would do to Jonny after a win. Running high on adrenaline, euphoria and lust, Patrick had sunk to his knees, pulled down Jonny’s pants and blew him to kingdom come. His mouth and hands working Jonny’s cock until the man was whimpering out Patrick’s name, tugging his blonde curls and squirting down his throat. They did not make it to the bed. Patrick fucked him right there on the floor; taking as much as he was giving, greedy and savage and hot. Flesh slapping against flesh, palms covering each other’s mouths to quiet their moans and grunts so as not to give themselves away to Hammer and Kopecky in the room next to Jonny’s. If what they had done in Winnipeg was make love, then this was fucking, plain and simple. There were no flowery words exchanged, no expressions of love or promises to be better. After, they had showered together. Patrick had snuck back to his own room, their teammates none the wiser the next morning.

 

Last week, after a win at the United Center, the guys had gone out to Murphy’s. Keaton had been working. Of course, Patrick volunteered to get drinks for the table in order to flirt with the cute bartender. It was harmless; it was just what they did now every time the team ended up here and Keaton was behind the bar. He had yet to actually go to a Blackhawks game, but he claimed he watched every game now and always promised he would get to one soon. Patrick and Keaton had exchanged numbers the week prior because Patrick had said he would buy the ticket; Keaton just had to let him know when he was able to go. This time, Patrick bugged him again, flashing the grin that usually got him what he wanted and batting his long eyelashes. Keaton had leaned closer, winking and promising to check his work schedule. When he had handed over the beers for the table, their fingers brushed and Keaton’s hand lingered on Patrick’s arm, squeezing before he smirked and they went their separate ways again. More and more, Patrick discovered those happy blue-gray eyes invading his thoughts and dreams, almost overshadowing the dark eyes glaring in his direction. In fact, he was pretty sure Jonny had been watching them the whole time with narrowed eyes and a frown on his face.

 

Well, fuck him. It’s not like he was making any sort of effort at a relationship beyond their weird best-friends-who-occasionally-make-out-and-fuck arrangement. He felt like Jonny’s dirty little secret. So it was nice to have the attention of a guy who did not care what other people thought, who was confident in his sexuality, and so goddamn funny and cute Patrick found himself eager to seek out Keaton every time the team went to the bar. If he was not working, Patrick always felt a twinge of disappointment settle in his gut. When he was though, Patrick’s heart rate picked up.

 

Again, Jonny had invited Patrick over after they left the bar. This time, he had spread Patrick naked out on his big bed, taking his time to kiss and nip and lick. Exploring every exposed area of skin until Patrick was hard, writhing and whimpering underneath him. Then he had deep-throated the blonde’s impressive thick cock, bobbing his head and swallowing around the tip at the back of his throat until Patrick came with a shout. He had not been able to recover from his mind-blowing orgasm before Jonny’s strong hands were manhandling him onto his stomach. He put Patrick where he wanted him; ass up, face in the sheets. Jonny had fingered him open, slowly sliding his long middle finger past the ring of muscle before adding a second, scissoring them in to widen the hole. Patrick moaned, clutching the bed sheets and wiggling his ass to let Jonny know he was ready. But Jonny wasn’t, and he was the one in control right now.

 

Usually, Patrick was not into giving one person all the power during sex, but he trusted Jonny to not hurt him. What that man was doing to him felt so unbelievably good, Patrick was not about to tell him to stop. He craved that touch when he did not have it, and maybe took advantage of it when he did. In all fairness, Jonny took advantage of him, too. None of that mattered right then because they would have mutual satisfaction in the end.

 

When Patrick’s hole was stretched to Jonny’s liking, he had grabbed the lube from the bedside table and squeezed a generous amount into his palm, enough to coat his cock. Patrick had felt Jonny lean over his back, arms wrapping around his chest and mid-section, cockhead poking at his entrance.

 

“Guide me in, baby boy,” Jonny had growled in his ear, and Patrick reached back to do just that.

 

“Uuunnnhhhh, _fuck_ , Jonny,” Patrick had breathed out, groaning as Jonny filled him. The lack of a condom meant Jonny was not fucking anyone else, and that had made it ten times hotter for Patrick. He remembered how Jonny had pushed in slow, still wrapped around Patrick, who had been holding them both up with his hands braced on the bed.

 

“I can’t believe how fucking tight you are, _mon cherie_ ,” Jonny had growled in his lover’s ear.

 

“I can’t believe how mouthy and sappy you are during sex,” Patrick had retorted breathlessly, letting out strangled sounds with every inch of cock sinking into his ass. Jonny snickered against Patrick’s neck and dropped a kiss on the soft, flushed skin behind his ear. He was all the way in, rotating his hips just enough for the wiry hair of his crotch to rub against Patrick’s stretched, wet hole and his cock to twitch inside.

 

“Jonny!” Patrick had squirmed, pleading, whining. “Fuck me, _please_ , just fuck me!” The throbbing need was so intense he had felt it in his ears, behind his eyes, built up in his belly and chest until he thought he would explode from the pressure. He gripped the headboard tight, arching his back, hips undulating back to ride Jonny’s cock; anything to make him pick up the pace even only a little bit. Muttering what Patrick assumed to be French curse words, Jonny took his hips in a bruising grip and pulled all the way out before thrusting in again.

 

“ _Ooohhh_ , fuck yes,” Patrick had moaned. “Yes, Jonny, yes, fuck yes.” Hips snapping, Jonny had plowed into the blonde’s ass while smoothing his palms up Patrick’s rippling back before reaching up to wrap his big hands around Patrick’s on the headboard. He kept his head bent low, kissing Patrick’s neck, shoulders, hair, grunting in his ear, enjoying every slick push and pull of his bare cock in Patrick’s tight channel. Hard and fast Jonny had fucked, Patrick matching the rhythm until he had been crying out and spilling ropy white cum all over the bed sheets, cock pulsing with his orgasm. Patrick felt cum dripping from his ass too, running down his thigh, but he couldn’t do anything about it because Jonny still had an iron grip around his hands on the headboard. Suddenly, his ass was empty of cock, but before he could protest the loss, Jonny had maneuvered them so he was on his back with Patrick straddling his waist. He bucked his hips up to spear himself into Patrick’s juicy, gaping hole again. The blonde gasped, wrecked, and tossed his head back, still recovering from his own intense orgasm, but Jonny gripped his chin to force their eyes to connect.

 

“Ride me, baby boy,” Jonny had ordered, voice rough and low with need. “Make me come.”

 

Looking down into his captain’s face, Patrick had braced his hands on Jonny’s chest and did as he was told. Hips rolling, ass grinding into Jonny’s lap, bouncing on the brunette’s cock, and murmuring dirty words.

 

“Come inside me, Jonny. Fill me up with your cum. Make me yours.”

 

It was not long before Jonny let out a loud, broken moan, shooting his hot seed deep into Patrick’s ass. The walls of his lover’s greedy hole clenching around his throbbing cock to squeeze him dry. There had been so much that it pulsed out and dripped down Patrick’s crack when Jonny had lifted his lover’s hips to pull out. He gathered up some of the pearly liquid on his fingers and brought them to Patrick’s chapped lips. The blonde opened his mouth, curling his tongue around Jonny’s fingers, tasting their combined essences, then leaning down to kiss the brunette for him to have a taste too.

 

After they had recovered, satiated and lazy, Patrick curled into Jonny, head on his warm chest and their legs tangled together. The larger man wrapped his arms around Patrick, gently sifting his fingers through his lover’s soft curls, darker blonde from sweat. Neither of them speaking, just content to be lying together with happy, sleepy grins on their faces. Patrick had traced patterns into Jonny’s chest with his finger, smoothing his thumb over one nipple, admiring the comfort and masterpiece of his lover’s fit, muscular body. Whoever designed and created this Canadian had done a damn good job of it.

 

Bent at the waist, leaning in towards Jonny in the face-off circle, Patrick licked his dry lips and focused on the present, despite the chub in his hockey pants. This is why they always warned about mixing business with pleasure. He was a damn professional; he wasn’t going to let his relationship affect his hockey. They knocked the blades of their sticks together, trying to throw the other guy off his rhythm to gain the advantage. Assistant Coach Mike Kitchen dropped the puck. Jonny swiped it away.

 

“Too slow, Peeks,” the captain teased. “Head in the game, bud.”

 

“Come here, I’ll show you too slow,” Patrick grumbled, gritting his teeth and resetting. This time, he dropped his shoulder, elbowing the taller man out of the way as the puck fell to the ice. He got his stick on it first, but Jonny straightened up and shook his head.

 

“That’s an illegal face-off, Peeks,” Jonny slotted the handle of his stick under his armpit in order to place firm hands on the smaller man’s broad shoulders. “You can’t make physical contact until the puck’s been played. Try interfering with your stick if you don’t think you can win, babe.” Patrick glanced up, grinning at the pet name casually falling from Jonny’s lips. “Stay low and square, but watch the ref’s elbow or shoulders for the drop.”

 

“Okay,” Patrick set up in the face-off dot again, bent low, hands choked up on the shaft of his stick like Jonny had shown him.

 

“Except square,” Jonny’s gentle hands moved the winger into the proper position. “Use your height – or lack of – to your advantage.”

 

“Haha, you’re a riot,” Patrick dead-panned, rolling his eyes.

 

Jonny chuckled at his own joke. The dork!

 

“When the puck drops, don’t go for it. Instead, push my stick out of the way, then send the puck out to your guy. Wanna try?”

 

“Yep, let’s do this.”

 

They spent the remainder of practice working on face-offs, and Patrick improved, winning about forty percent. That earned a grin and stick tap on his shin from his captain on their way into the locker room.

 

“Better watch out, Cap’n Serious,” Sharpy came up behind Patrick, who was in the process of removing his pads, and jostled his shoulders. “Our lil Peekaboo might just become our new top line centerman.”

 

Patrick blushed, pushing Sharpy off him, rolling his eyes.

 

“Shut up, Sharpy,” Jonny shoved at his teammate too. Sharpy just laughed and continued to be the annoying older brother, poking at Jonny before he went on to his own stall to change out of his practice uniform.

 

“What an asshole,” Jonny muttered, but he was smiling and shaking his head at his teammate’s antics. Patrick laughed too, stepping out of his hockey pants and jock, then grabbing his boxers and sweatpants from the bench in front of him.

 

“He just can’t help it. Poor Abby,” Patrick tsked. He pulled his hoodie over his head, fully dressed, then looked over at Jonny, who was out of his practice uniform but taking his time to put on street clothes. So Patrick let his eyes linger, swallowing against his suddenly dry throat and enjoying the view. The tall man’s lean muscle moved under his smooth skin, still a little tanned from the summer. The planes of his back shifting with every movement as he shook out his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Patrick licked his lips, “Hey, um, Jonny, you wanna—,”

 

“I need to see you in my office, Jonny!” Coach Q’s gruff voice called out over the din of the room.

 

“Yes, sir!” Jonny quickly finished dressing, eyes apologetic as he clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Don’t wait around, Peeks. Who knows how long this will be. I’ll text you or something when I’m done.”

 

“Ooohhh, your boyfriend’s in trouble,” Sharpy sing-songed, his damn handsome face smiling and bright. Patrick glared at his best friend, looking around the room but the other guys were not paying attention. He shoved his nasty workout clothes into his gym bag, swung it onto his shoulder and headed out. Jonny didn’t call, or text, or come over that night.

 

But Keaton did.

 

Patrick had taken a nap after practice, not expecting to hear from Jonny for at least a couple hours. Despite Sharpy’s teasing, it was not unusual for Jonny to be called into meetings with the coaches. He was the captain, after all. Every so often the management, players and coaches needed to make sure they were all on the same page as far as the development and progress of the team. It was especially important now because they team was not doing so hot. They had choices to make before the trade deadline as to what guys to keep, who could be potentially traded, and who they have their eyes on to acquire.

 

So, Patrick was folding laundry with ESPN on in the background, waiting for Jonny’s name to appear on his phone screen. He had already made and eaten dinner, called his mom and sisters, threw a load of sheets and towels into the washing machine and emptied the dishwasher. Now he was folding the dried towels and sheets, wondering why he chose to still do menial chores when he had enough money to hire these jobs out….except he did not want to come across as a complete incompetent asshole. Like, he could fold his own clothes and shit. People have been washing and folding their own clothes for centuries. It builds character or some such motivational crap his parents always liked to tell him and his sisters.

 

His phone buzzed on the glass-top coffee table. Patrick tossed the fitted sheet he was attempting to fold back into the basket and snatched up his phone, heart skipping in anticipation of his boyf – Jonny’s – text. Frowning because it was not the name he was expecting on the screen.

 

_Message from Keaton cute bartend:_

_Hey u. So I got tomorrow off. Heard Dallas has some cute players. Wanna hook a brother up?_

Three winky face emojis followed. Patrick chuckled, settling back in the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table as he typed a response.

_Sure! Tix will be waiting at box office tom. nite. Dallas tho? Ew! Way better lookin guys on Hawks._

Not even two minutes later, Patrick’s phone buzzed in his hand.

_lol yeah, that Sharp isn’t too bad._

_O i get it. U just watch for the boys._

_I’m offended, Patrick! I’m a serious student of the game! Puck! Net! Goal! Power play! See? I know my hockey shit._

As Patrick was laughing, trying to think of a witty comeback, his phone went off again.

_Those hockey asses tho. Gotta be blind not to enjoy that view. Just sayin. I’ll hold up a sign for your ass tomorrow night._

_U will not! No tix for u, Mr.!_

_Making it right now. So glittery. You can’t stop me! Altho your BF probably could. Think he’ll beat me up?_

Patrick paused, fingers hovering over the keypad for a second before he typed:

_He’s not my bf._

 

Keaton did not respond for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes. Patrick was almost ready to throw his phone on the table to go back to his laundry, but then it buzzed.

_We could do something after. If u want._

 

Two smiley face emojis followed, and Patrick’s heart was racing so fast he briefly wondered what a heart attack felt like. Was Keaton hitting on him? _Has he been flirting and hitting on me all along? God, I’m a fucking idiot!_ But part of him already knew the correct answer to that question because he had been reciprocating all along. He thought it was just fun though. Keaton was so unimpressed with the hockey thing, and he seemed flirty but not interested in being anything else. And Patrick liked the attention. He didn’t have to fight for it, he never wondered where he ranked in priority, and it was just….stress free. Not like whatever this thing with Jonny was. Patrick knew he loved Jonny, but his mom was right. A one-sided relationship would never be enough.

*************

 

At skate the next morning, Jonny did not offer up any excuses for his silence last night, nor did he give even a vague explanation as to what the meeting with Coach Q was all about. Patrick was not a morning person anyway, so dressing for skate in silence was fine by him. He smiled sleepily at Jonny before grabbing his stick and heading out to the ice. Sharpy, Hoss and Frolik were taking shots at Corey in the net while Seabs, Duncs and their defense players ran some blue line drills at the other end of the rink. The skate was mandatory for players, but because of their practice yesterday, it was much more subdued today. Defensive and offensive coaches were not required to be there, but Coach Q and Kitch were on the bench going over strategies and plays on the whiteboard. Jonny and the alternates were in charge of running the morning skate.

 

Patrick joined the group of forwards at the net, and seconds later Jonny was at his side. They organized a half-rink scrimmage; Jonny’s team against Patrick’s to work on face-offs and puck control. Sharpy, who of course was Team 88, was his usual chirpy self. Jonny played to win, so when Patrick buried the first goal for either team on Corey’s blocker side, Sharpy let out a whoop and patted his shorter teammate’s helmet in congratulations.

 

“How’s that feel, Captain Serious?” Sharpy taunted.

 

“Feels like shut the fuck up. It’s only one goal,” Jonny retorted, but he tapped Patrick’s leg with his stick when he skated by. A simple gesture to acknowledge the winger’s skill and let him know Jonny was proud of him. Patrick batted his eyelashes, smirking, fully aware how he could distract the usually single-minded captain. But it did not work this time because Jonny won the face-off and Patrick’s team was chasing the puck. Hoss passed it back to Kopecky, who dropped it off for Jonny to take a shot on goal. The puck would have gone in, probably, if Patrick had not skated in at the last second, swinging his stick against Jonny’s and forcing the shot wide.

 

“Ooo, too slow, Cap! Don’t do that tonight,” Patrick teased, skating a circle around his glaring friend, those shark eyes following his movements.

 

The next time, Jonny’s shot glanced off the right goal post. He slammed his stick on the ice in frustration. Corey pet the post like it was his best friend, thanking the metal for saving his ass.

 

“Need to go take shot practice with the rookies?” Sharpy’s taunts were relentless. Jonny was about ready to shoot the puck into that pretty face as hard as he could, maybe knock out a few teeth. Despite winning every face-off in the thirty-minute scrimmage, Jonny’s team was unable to get any pucks past Corey, and Patrick’s team was held to the one.

 

“Fuck yeah, man, play like that tonight and you’re gold,” Hoss skated with the goalie on their way off the ice.

 

“Keep those fucking puke green Stars out of my crease,” Corey responded, lifting his mask to rest on top of his head, accepting the fist bumps from his teammates as they skated by. Hossa grinned, skating off as Brent came up beside Corey and grabbed him playfully around the shoulders.

 

“Those puke green jerseys don’t stand a chance, eh?”

 

Corey grinned at his boyfriend, sandy hair darkened with sweat and flopping over his wide forehead, making him look youthful and innocent instead of the big defenseman he was; capable of fucking up anyone who even got close to his goaltending boyfriend. Corey reached out an ungloved hand to flick at that floppy lock of hair, chirping, “You gonna kill ‘em with your good looks, eh? Maybe take off your bucket and wave that flow around to distract ‘em?”

 

“Whatever I gotta do, babe,” Brent smirked, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “Anything to win. That’s what Coach always preaches.”

 

Corey chuckled, shaking his head but eyes full of fondness, “You really are ridiculous.”

 

“I’ve been hanging out with you too much.”

 

Patrick watched Seabs and Crow interacting with each other after practice. Unless they already knew, no one would think those two were anything more than really good friends as they skated side-by-side, talking and laughing. Patrick couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they were probably chirping at each other. His heart ached to have that easy companionship with the same person he also could burn with passion for.

*************

 

“Hey, Jonny, so I’ve got a great idea for costumes for the Halloween party,” Patrick practically bounced up and down by his stall as he stripped off his hockey gear. The locker room buzzed with the excitement and relief of a big win, and Patrick felt wound up. Elated that the Blackhawks beat Dallas and Keaton had been sitting in the stands to watch. Jonny had scored off a tricky pass from Patrick through two big Dallas defenders, then Hoss followed up with a breakaway goal a minute later. Patrick had scored a power play goal in the second period. He felt unstoppable in that moment. “I was thinking we go as Penhall and Hanson. You know, from 21 Jump Street? They got that whole ‘are they or aren’t they gay for each other’ thing going on. You be Penhall. I’ll be Hanson. I’ve got everything I need for my costume, but we could find a jacket for you, babe, unless you have one. The party is in three days though, so we gotta go shopping pretty quick. Just let me know when you wanna go, ok, babe, and—,”

 

“We’re not going to the party together, Patrick,” Jonny interrupted, voice low and even but decisive.

 

Patrick turned to look at him, eyes wide and brows drawn together, “What?”

 

“You heard me,” Jonny mumbled, turning away to pull his T-shirt on over his head. “We’re not going together.”

 

“Oh,” Patrick tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Are you busy that night or something? You can’t go?”

 

“No,” Jonny sounded….annoyed? Frustrated that Patrick did not seem to understand what he was saying? “Patrick, _I’m_ not going to the party with _you._ ”

 

Patrick’s stomach dropped, crashing hard from his post-win high. He frowned, shoulders slumped, turning those watery blue eyes on Jonny. “W-why?” For Patrick, there was no other option. They were dating, right? Like, maybe they weren’t conventional boyfriends, but Jonny rarely denied him sex. Actually, Jonny was the one who usually initiated it! The guys brought their wives or dates to the Halloween party, and Patrick had been so excited to finally have someone to bring. Brent and Corey were going as Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble. If anyone did not know those two were dating, there would be no denying it after that! So he hoped having those two there, together, would allow Jonny to be more comfortable with Patrick as his boyfriend around their friends and teammates. There would be no cameras or reporters; nothing would have to go public to the masses.

 

Jonny shrugged, “Lindsay and Adam just broke up and she’s gonna be visiting this weekend, so I asked if she wanted to be my date to the Halloween party.” He said it so nonchalant. Like he had not just crushed the last shred of hope Patrick had that this relationship could actually work.

 

That was a punch to the gut. Patrick would have doubled over in pain if not for the small amount of pride he still had left. He swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. Tears prickled behind his eyes but he absolutely refused to let them fall. He wanted to scream, pummel his clenched fists into Jonny’s solid chest, make him hurt physically the way Patrick felt betrayed. Yell that he fucking _knew_ Lindsay had a thing for Jonny – or maybe she just had a thing for seeing how many guys she could get. Whatever the fucking case, she was just using Jonny and why couldn’t he open his goddamn eyes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jonathan, you are truly an ignorant ass!


	19. The summer's out of reach....

Keaton waited for Patrick exactly where he said he would be. After showering, changing into his street clothes and talking to the media, Patrick was ready to be done. Ready to get away from everything that reminded him of Jonny. Maybe get drunk. The possibilities were endless. When he emerged from the locker room, there was Keaton; leaning against the wall opposite the locker room doorway, head bent, looking down at his phone. Casually hot in dark jeans, a red Blackhawks T-shirt, unzipped grey hoodie and spiky hair covered by a black beanie.

 

Patrick cleared his suddenly dry throat, “That shirt better have an 88 on the back.”

 

Keaton’s head snapped up and he grinned, showing off straight white teeth, “Are you kidding? He’s the worst! Number 2. Keith is the best, man.”

 

“All right,” Patrick conceded, “yeah, he’s pretty good.”

 

“And hot,” Keaton shoved off the wall, slowly approaching the shorter hockey player.

 

“Mmmm, and married….to a woman.”

 

“Good thing I’m not about to ask him out to dinner then.”

 

“Yeah? Who you gonna ask?”

 

Stopping directly in front of Patrick, Keaton’s hands landed on his hips, pulling him closer, “You wanna go out for dinner?”

 

“Sure, if you’re paying,” Patrick smirked.

 

“Okay, so McDonald’s it is!”

 

Laughing, Patrick clapped him on the chest, stepping out of his touch and showing him down the empty hallway towards the exit to the United Center parking garage. As Patrick’s guest, Keaton had been able to park in the spots reserved for players and their families and friends. They decided he would follow Patrick back to the Trump Tower parking garage and they would head to the restaurant from there together in Patrick’s Hummer.

 

“You’re not going out with your team?” Keaton asked as he climbed up into the passenger’s seat. “That was a big win, man. I won’t be mad if you want to celebrate with them.”

 

“No, Keaton, I want to go out with you,” Patrick reassured, glancing over at the handsome bartender.

 

“Good,” Keaton smiled then settled back against the seat, buckling himself in. “Where are we going?”

 

“I thought _you_ were taking _me_ out.”

 

“Well, you’re driving, Mr. Smarty Pants.”

 

“Very true. Let’s go somewhere with lots of booze,” Patrick threw the SUV in drive, heading out of the parking garage.

 

“Whoa, whoa,” Keaton chuckled, sounding a bit nervous, “I’m not opposed to drinking with you, but I’m starving. So I need food. Food before booze. Can’t have you hungover on my watch. Your friends are huge and know where I work.”

 

“How about food _and_ booze?”

 

Patrick drove them to a bar just across the river, not too far from his apartment. He knew the owner, so if both of them became too inebriated to drive, Patrick knew he could leave his Hummer and they could walk back or call a cab. The place was not as upscale as Murphy’s; it was in a strip mall with several other storefronts on West Washington, so the interior was long and narrow with enough room for a large bar and stools. Some tables wide enough for two lined the opposite wall. The décor was eccentric; a mix of man-cave sports paraphernalia, mostly baseball and college sports, and aquatic creatures. A 55-gallon saltwater tank filled with brilliantly colored fish sat against the far wall, and a couple posters from the owner’s favorite movie, _Jaws_ , covered the wall. This bar was the dumping ground for all the things Rick’s wife was not keen on having in her meticulously decorated home.

 

Rick, the owner, a former college baseball coach, had taken it upon himself to look after the green teenaged hockey player. An 18-year old Patrick had tried charming the pretty female bartender into serving him a beer, but Rick had come out from the kitchen and set a burger and milkshake down in front of him instead. He did not give a fuck about who Patrick was. He just saw a kid disguising his confusion and insecurity as cockiness and charm, so he decided to guide this kid along. Patrick loved him for that and had spent a lot of time in this bar over the years….not drinking. When Patrick turned 21, Rick was the one who gave him his first legal beer, making Jonny promise to be the designated driver. Rick knew about Patrick’s feelings for Jonny; their whole sordid history actually.

 

“Patrick!” a greeting rang out as he and Keaton walked through the door.

 

“Hey, Sarah,” Patrick replied with a friendly smile as an older gentleman came up beside the young, pretty bartender. “Rick.”

 

“Nice to see ya, kid, where the hell ya been?” the man clapped Patrick on the shoulder. “And how have you been, Jo – you’re not Jonny.”

 

Keaton looked to Patrick for some kind of explanation, confused but also kind of amused.

 

“Oh, Rick, this is Keaton. Keaton, Rick and his lovely daughter Sarah.”

 

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Keaton held out his hand to shake. The older man had a lot of questions written all over his features, but he was too polite not to shake hands. His grip was bone-crushing, and when he let go Keaton had to clench his fingers just to make sure they were still there.

 

“Call me Rick. ‘Sir’ makes me sound old.”

 

“You? Old? No!” Patrick joked.

 

“Flattery doesn’t get you free drinks, young man,” Rick retorted. “What can I do for you boys?”

 

“Um, I’ll have a burger and fries. And a Bud Light, please,” Keaton piped in.

 

“Same. Thanks, Rick,” Patrick nodded.

 

“Coming right up. You two find a seat and we’ll bring it right out,” Rick said, but the look in his eye before he turned to go back to the kitchen suggested they would talk later. Patrick lead Keaton to a table where they could sit across from each other and talk privately rather than having to sit side-by-side and make awkward conversation with the regulars sitting at the bar.

 

“Do you just make friends with bartenders every where you go?” Keaton smirked. “Is that, like, your thing?”

 

Patrick laughed and shook his head, “Not outside of Chicago, actually. I met Rick when I first got here.” He told the story as they waited, and Keaton listened with genuine interest.

 

Three beers later, Patrick was feeling giggly and light. A few more and he was sure he would be able to forget all about Jonny’s rejection. Plus, his company was damn cute; witty and a great listener. He liked not talking about hockey. Keaton could not care less about wins and losses and who has the hardest shot or Sidney Crosby’s Corsi, but rather he wanted to talk about Patrick Kane the Human Being. Keaton asked about Patrick’s family, his interests outside of hockey, and offered up the same information about himself. No pretense or grandstanding. It was refreshing. At one point, Keaton reached across the table for Patrick’s hand, really taking any excuse to casually touch him. It did not matter that they were in public or people could see them flirting and laughing together.

 

Patrick excused himself to use the restroom some time around beer four. When he emerged, Rick cornered him against the kitchen door, and Patrick was tipsy and pliant so he did not resist.

 

“What are you doing, kid?” Rick questioned, but it wasn’t accusatory; just curious and maybe a little concerned.

 

“Peeing,” Patrick slurred, eyes hazy with alcohol, but he felt good. Buzzed. Relaxed.

 

“With _him_ , Patrick. Ever since I’ve known you, you and Jonny have been attached at the hip, and last I knew you were sleeping with _Jonny_. Who is this guy?”

 

Patrick’s laugh was more a sneer; flat and sarcastic. He tried to focus on his friend’s kind face, but the room was….swimming? Or maybe that was just his brain. His head hurt. “Someone who pays attention to me and isn’t ashamed to be with me.”

 

Rick sighed and smoothed Patrick’s hair back from his sweat-beaded forehead. He pressed the back of his hand against Patrick’s flushed cheeks like a caring parent, “Patrick, if Jonny hurt you, I swear to God….”

 

Tears welled in his eyes, Patrick wrapped the older man in a hug and buried his face in Rick’s shoulder as the truth spilled out, “He’s going to the Halloween party with a girl and he doesn’t want to hold my hand or call me boyfriend. He thinks I’m a fucking screw-up, and I think I’m just, like, a convenient fuck or something so good, responsible Jonny can save face with the entire fucking world. Why does he care so much what people fucking think?”

 

“Oh, kid, I’m so sorry,” Rick held the sobbing drunk hockey player. Soon enough, the whimpering turned to sniffles and Patrick lifted his head, eyes watery and sad. “You don’t have to live this way, you know. Patrick, you deserve to be loved the way you love others, and if Jonny is too much of a dumb ass to pass that up then it is time to let him go. You can’t _make_ someone love you.”

 

“I know, I know,” Patrick wiped at his eyes, snickering in embarrassment at crying all over his friend’s shoulder. “Easier said than done though.”

 

“I know,” Rick clapped the younger man on the back and nodded in the direction of where Keaton was waiting at the table for Patrick to return, “but if that guy makes you happy and you want to spend time together, then go for it. Maybe you’ll find yourself getting over Jonny and falling in love with Keaton. Take it slow, kid, and the universe might surprise you. Now, get back out there to that boy who is so patiently waiting for you.”

 

If he suspected Patrick had been crying or wondered what took so long in the bathroom, Keaton did not ask. He merely smiled as Patrick walked back to the table and reached for his hand again when he sat down.

 

“Hey, you ready to go?” Keaton asked kindly.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t think I should drive,” Patrick answered.

 

“That’s okay. It’s a nice night. We can walk. It will give us more time together, too.”

 

They decided to split the bill, neither one comfortable with the other guy paying for him. They just weren’t at that point in their relationship yet. But Patrick had hope for someday. Rick bid them goodnight, then the two men headed out. Keaton slid his hand into Patrick’s, entwining their fingers, and Patrick’s heart beat harder against his chest. He was sure Keaton could hear it, and he knew it wasn’t the alcohol creating that reaction. Patrick glanced over at his companion.

 

“Is that okay?” Keaton asked, eyes suddenly unsure. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Keaton hesitant about anything.

 

Patrick nodded, “Yeah, it’s fine.” The night was young by no means. It was probably close to midnight, yet the streets of Chicago still bustled with people and life; midnight strollers, club hoppers, early work goers, construction workers finishing repairs on Wacker Drive while cars were scarce on the road. He felt exhilarated by the prospect of being seen holding hands with another man. It did not matter what the newspapers would say or what the public thought because Patrick knew who he was and Keaton knew what he was getting himself into. And he didn’t seem to mind. They could just be _them_ , taking a moonlit walk with all the other couples enjoying the chilly October night. They walked side-by-side in silence for a block or so. The cool night air felt good on Patrick’s flushed skin, and he appreciated the sobering effect it had. His vision became a little less blurry, his headache lessened, and the roiling of the alcohol in his stomach diminished to a dull weight settled in his gut. He was going to be hungover, but that was the consequence of drinking that much alcohol after playing a hockey game and neglecting to rehydrate properly.

 

“The only think I don’t like about living in the city is not being able to see the stars,” Keaton’s quiet, deep voice penetrated the still night, but it was a welcome sound to Patrick’s troubled soul. “Growing up in the suburbs really spoiled me for stars and moonlight and being able to clearly see the Milky Way.”

 

“Yeah?” Patrick looked up to the sky where the city lights washed out the natural brilliance of the cosmos. “Buffalo is small but it’s still a city with the lights and the buildings, so this looks pretty normal to me. When I was a kid, though, we used to drive up to Canada on the weekends for hockey tournaments and stuff. We would camp in this old metal trailer – two beds and a baggage area my dad made into another bunk – but I remember laying out on a blanket late at night. All six of us – my dad, mom, three sisters and me – gazing up at the stars, and my mom could point out all the constellations. My dad always called my mom his north star, the brightest light in the sky.”

 

“Sounds wonderful. I like the close bond you have with your family.”

 

“They’re great. I wish I could see them more, and I miss them all the time, but having those memories is a blessing,” Patrick gently squeezed Keaton’s hand, bringing him back to the present and he grinned over at the cute bartender. “You should go to Canada if you want to see stars. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have anyone to go with,” Keaton’s grey-blue eyes turned teasing, full lips pulled into a wide smile. “Maybe someday, eh?”

 

Patrick chuckled, blushing and glancing down at his feet, “Maybe someday. You’ve already got the lingo.”

 

Keaton laughed, eyes glinting silver in the dark, “It’s all that hockey I’ve been watching lately. I suddenly have a craving for maple syrup and putting gravy on my fries.”

 

“You do know that, like, half the NHL isn’t Canadian, right?”

 

“But Canada invented the game, didn’t they?”

 

“More or less. Yes."

 

“So what got you started?” Keaton glanced over at Patrick as if to gauge if that question was acceptable to ask.

 

“I just….always played. As soon as I could walk I was skating. Sports were always a big thing for me. I was too short to play basketball, so I focused on hockey. My coaches actually told me I was too small to ever be a great hockey player, but soon I was playing with kids two and three years older than me. I loved it. Playing hockey was all I ever wanted to do,” Patrick explained. “Part of me feels lucky to be doing what I love as a career and to have a family who supported me every step of the way, but it’s hard work and sacrifice, too. I didn’t get to go to prom or hang out with my friends like a normal teenaged kid. At 14, I was living halfway across the country from my family. Sorry, I’m rambling now.”

 

“No, it’s fascinating,” Keaton leaned into Patrick’s side, using his free hand to squeeze Patrick’s bicep in encouragement. “It’s nice to get to know you, and every time you talk about hockey or your family you get this happy, wistful look. It’s so cute.”

 

Patrick blushed and tried to direct attention away from himself, “What about you? Are you doing what you want to be doing?”

 

“Bartending? Hell no!” Keaton scrunched up his face. “I mean, not that it’s a bad job or anything. Like, some people love it. You do you, ya know? But it’s just a means to an end for me. I’m an artist.”

 

“What? How come you haven’t told me this before?”

 

Keaton shrugged, “Didn’t come up, I guess.”

 

“So what do you do? Draw? Paint?”

 

“Yes and yes. Mostly portraits and abstract stuff. It’s a way to vent emotions and work things out in a constructive way. I’m trying to get some pieces into an art show next spring. Bartending pays the bills for now.”

 

“That’s awesome, dude! I hope you get in. Now I wanna see your stuff.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.”

 

They realized they had arrived at the Trump Tower parking garage already. Patrick actually felt disappointed, and he was not sure he wanted their time together to end. But it would not be right to invite Keaton inside. He wasn’t ready for that, as enjoyable as the night has been. They could go slow. _Had_ to go slow because Patrick’s heart couldn’t handle twice making the same mistake of getting involved too soon.

 

“I had a great time tonight, Patrick,” Keaton turned to lean back against his car, grabbing both of Patrick’s hands with his own. “Thanks so much for the hockey ticket.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Patrick stepped closer. “I had a great time, too.”

 

“I don’t wanna go, but I have to,” Keaton groaned, pressing his forehead against Patrick’s, bringing their lips within an inch of each other’s. “Staying here would be far too tempting, and I don’t want to do anything we’ll regret later. I never want to regret anything with you, Patrick.”

 

His heart ached for the same thing; what he thought he had with Jonny but maybe he could find again with the unashamed, kind and candid man standing here now.

 

“Um, are you busy Saturday?” Eyes closed, Patrick licked his lips, nervous but bold enough to continue.

 

“I work until five, but I’m free after that. Why?”

 

“Do you, um, would you like to go to the team Halloween party….with me?” Patrick watched Keaton’s face change from curious to pensive to intrigued.

 

“I’d love to,” Keaton pressed a quick kiss to Patrick’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take Jonny's head in one hand, Patrick's hand in the other, and knock them together! Stupid boys!
> 
> But please, tell me what you think? How do you feel about Keaton?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete work of fiction. Yes, there are names, dates and events that correlate with real life, but that's about where the similarities end as I have no claim on or right to (unfortunately) Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, the Blackhawks organization or the NHL. I'm just an intense fan who loves to write.


End file.
